Life’s Quest

Stories of quests and tasks carried out in the name of love of a princess are the stuff of fairy tales. Or are they? Only just today, I learned of three sons, who had returned recently from their own quests, to prove their love.
It all started with the most tragic of scenes. Tucked away in his bed in the nursing home, an old man lay dying. Gathered round him were his three loving sons, Nathan, Caspian and Trevor. They were, by most accounts, ordinary boys, with ordinary lives, from an ordinary family. And the old man, too, was, by all accounts, ordinary.
But as many do as they approach unknown demise, he had questions – questions that must be answered urgently.
And, as most sons do as parents fade away, the boys found within themselves a willingness to set aside their own mundane wants, to answer the needs of their loved one.
So, each drew near as the father begged his request.
“I need to know, before I die, what hidden value, what meaning, what significance there is to each of our lives. I need to know “why.” Because only when I know “why” and “what” will I be happy to accept the “when” of my departure.
The meaning of life? A simple request! But each child agreed to do his best, though at least two already knew the answer. Caspian, unfortunately, was the slowest of the bunch. To him, this was a monumental task, to be undertaken with the greatest of diligence.
For Trevor, he knew where to go, and he wasted no time. Not just because the nurse had whispered to him, in a brief aside, “Be quick. Your father has not long to live.” But also because Trevor knew that the meaning of life, so simple, provided him with his greatest of joys.
Even so, to be quick at any time was no easy task for Trevor. His huge girth, more amply spread through years of experienced pleasures, was a heavy load, gladly borne. Nonetheless, Trevor was glad to accept his assignment of love, and he would not fail his father in that.
Nathan, too, was eager to be off. He hated the depressed aura hanging heavy over the nursing home. Surrounded by old age, frailty, pain, suffering and dying, he could feel his high spirits and boundless energy draining from him, fatal ounce upon ounce. His father’s chore meant Nathan would not have to visit that tomb for some time. And, when he returned to reveal his great secret to Dad, he felt certain that his father could cross into his new life in peace. For Nathan had known, since his very childhood, the meaning of life.
The task, though, weighed hard on Caspian. Lacking the youthful exuberance of his brother Nathan, or the vast elite knowledge and experience of Trevor, Caspian had spent his life listening intently, observing closely, digesting carefully, each experience, each situation, each moment. For Caspian knew that he was not as bright and intuitive as his brothers, and he knew that he must strive harder to understand, to compensate for his failures.
It was to be Caspian that provided the millstone that dragged down quick resolution of the task. Days dragged by, then weeks. Nathan, always on the move, found he grew more impatient with each day, but, as the brothers had agreed to present their solutions jointly to their father, he was compelled to wait. Trevor, though, was unfazed by the delay; a delay that allowed him to indulge himself lavishly. Caspian pedantically toiled through the job given to him, needing to be sure he found precisely what his dear father had asked.
One day word arrived to each of the boys that the old man would not last the night. Each hastened to his bedside.
“What have you learned, what have you brought me?” wheezed the father.
Trevor, the eldest, presented first.
He pressed lightly on the buzzer beside the hospital bed, and momentarily, several orderlies arrived, each pushing a covered metal cart.
“I wanted to present my answers for you more spectacularly, but with the greatest haste, I brought you a few of the finest samples of the meaning of life.”
With that, Trevor uncovered gleaming tray upon gleaming tray within the carts in the room. Layer upon layer of the finest entrees, sinfully sweet desserts, and carafes, beakers and bottles of wines lined the racks and rows. Intensely beautiful aromas filled the room. Each son’s mouth watered with anticipation.
“The meaning and purpose of our lives is obvious. Live each moment to enjoy its greatest pleasures. Fine wines, exquisite foods, sensual desserts. And stimulating friends with which to share. For God has given us no greater gift than the gifts of our senses: our vision (soak up the beauty of each of these dishes), our ears (hear the sizzle, the fizz, the crunch and swish of each sampled morsel), our nose (smell the bouquet of the fine wines, the sweet delight of lush desserts), our tongue (savour each bite, each momentous mouthful). Life is meant to be tasted, digested, indulged to its fullest.
The old man smiled a contented smile, memories of shared moments, enjoyed indulgences with great friends of years past flooding over him.
“Yes, it is true. Some of life’s greatest pleasures are as you say. You have made me feel so much better. You have always been such a comfort, and have always been able to satisfy my most pressing needs of the moment. Indeed, what you say may be true, and I am surely blessed to have such a sensitive, caring son.”
He sighed, wishing he could savour more of those moments past, but knowing that the end was near and there was to be no more such carefree experiences. Tears clouded his eyes as he viewed the near future forlornly.
“And you, my son, so full of vigour and energy. What does my son Nathan bring to me to help me on this most unpleasant journey?”
Nathan was quick to respond.
“I can offer you no scrumptious meals, no fine wines. I can only bring you these.”
With that, he laid in front of his father dozens of medals, ribbons and trophies.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the meaning of life is life lived to the maximum. It is a life for the young. There is no greater joy than to feel the rush of the wind as you plummet down a mountainside that has never before seen a ski. Nothing compares to the wild ride of a race car so powerful that you must merely hold on to survive. No thrill can surpass the challenge of meeting your foe in a one-on-one battle to the finish. There is no more satisfying moment than the moment of conquest, a deep-sea dive, a game of chance, a risk well-taken. Life’s reward is in victories, and wins, and being the best. It is to be lived with all your energy until you can go no further.”
“But, dear father, I fear I offer you no comfort, for you are now denied all these pleasures, and I am sorry for you.”
With that, the boy burst into tears, for both his father’s lost life, and the realized inevitability of his own impending loss.
The old man summoned frail energy to stroke Nathan’s bowed head.
“No, no.,” he muttered. “You are wrong, even though you are right. Life is to be enjoyed. Life is to be pushed to the maximum. And, in my day, I can tell you, there was no greater joy than the joy of competition, of games played well, of challenges well-met. I’m proud to have such a wise son.”
With that, the father looked to the last, and least son.
“Poor Caspian. I am afraid that I have set before you an impossible task. But be assured, son, that I love you no less if you have failed to find an answer for me. Tell me, though, have you found anything which may be of comfort to me in my final night on this earth?”
Caspian drew close, and with neither the pomp of his brother Trevor, or the energy of his brother Nathan, he laid on the blankets his little treasures he had gathered over the past weeks.
All in all, they seemed greatly insignificant. Two twigs, three stones, and some sand.
The two other brothers looked at each other, then shrugged. It was, after all, Caspian. The old man, too, in spite of low expectations, was clearly disappointed.
“So tell me, son, why are these your life’s treasures? Why do they hold the meaning of life?”
Caspian picked up the first branch.
“I can only tell you what was revealed to me. I’m not sure I really understand, either. This tree, for example. A willow. It grows unsheltered from the world, exposed to the wind. But each day, as the wind tears at it, the willow grows more supple, more flexible, more forgiving, more graceful. Why, just look at its slender leaves, feel its smooth, glistening bark. In spite of the harsh wind, and because of that harsh wind, it has developed such beauty.”
The father hesitated, then nodded.
“Quite true, my son. I had not seen how beautiful it was, how strong the willow is in spite of adversity. Thank you for that. But what of your remaining treasures?”
Next, Caspian held up the second limb.
“Now the oak is quite different. Look at its bark. How rough, tough and gnarled it is. But, do you know that even when you cut off this limb and let it die, it does not wither and grow weak? No, as it dries, it hardens even more. Why, as oak dries, it clamps harder and harder at anything that may try to penetrate its surface. And, it’s so hard, that even in death it does not crumble to nothing like lesser trees and plants might. Yet, this oak finds such great strength after scores of years being cruelly beaten by winter winds, killing droughts, and the harshest, most piercing sun, year after year after year. In its death it is more beautiful than in its life!”
A gleam of hope lighted the old man’s eyes. “Even after death it becomes stronger, more beautiful, more enduring, you say? Isn’t that a wonder.”
And he patted Caspian’s shoulder.
The other two sons looked at each other quizzically.
“But there are more treasures. What of them?”
Caspian warmed to his task.
“Look closely at this sand,” he said. “Run it through your hands, and remember its feel on your toes on the oceanfront. Feel the sun’s warmth that it holds, just for you. But remember, Dad, that that very sand has been buffeted and tossed about for centuries by waves, dragged countless miles across the ocean floor, ground into dust, and left to waste away on miles of beach front. Yet, men take those silica crumbs, heat them liquid hot and shape them into exquisite crystal glass objects of beauty. The very brutality of their lives leads these sand crumbs into new lives of beautiful creations, creating pleasure for all who see them.”
That was welcome news for the aged patient. He saw himself emerging into a new life of exquisite wonder, released from the pains of this world, and part of a new creation of God’s great world.
“I need hear no more. You have surely revealed all I need to know about the meaning of life.”
“No, Dad, I have more to show you.”
Caspian placed the first stone in his father’s hand.
“What do you feel?”
“Why, nothing more than a rough piece of limestone. What should I feel?”
“Feel its history. Old fossils buried within. Silt, and clays, and rotting organisms, all melded together. All buried deeper and deeper under the heavy weight of new life, dead life, decaying life. Water spilling over the rock, leeching out its heart and soul, bit by bit, and carrying those valued minerals into little statues of crystalline beauty. Stalagmites and stalactites in intricate shapes. Yet all of this from the living of life in all its complexities, the wasting and decay of life, in turn feeding new life, but with none of the history, the contributions of each life lost. Why, just look at this little piece of rock, and you can see the entire past, all laid out clearly. Not one life forgotten.
A great light of joy lit the old man’s face.
“One’s life never forgotten, eh? You mean, I can be remembered forever? I’m not ever going to completely leave this world, or be forgotten by it? This limestone rock is surely a treasure!”
And he held it tightly to his chest.
“Go on, my son, reveal more to me!”
Caspian cradled his second last treasure briefly, before handing it to his brothers.
“What do you think of this one?” he asked.
“Why, it’s just a piece of granite,” said Trevor. “Nothing more.”
“Yes, I’ve seen granite hundreds of times before. What significance does it have?”
The old man, eager now to learn, turned the stone over and over.
“It’s more than granite. Look, there’s quartz, and mica, and feldspar. Right son?”
“Right , Dad. Quartz, thick veins of quartz so pure. Yet it’s thick veins of quartz that often carry man’s most treasured metal – gold. And mica. Without it, our greatest inventions may not have been possible. Why, for almost every electrical or electronic application, mica forms the core. What of feldspar? That sand you held may be entirely made of tiny crystals of feldspar. No glass no mirror, nor delicate crystal can exist without the processing of feldspar. So, even just this rock holds valuable material treasures. But this rock comes from the depths of this earth, pieces bonded together through extreme pressures, incredible, volcanic heat, eons and eons of time. So strong is this collection of particles, that sometimes the heaviest mallet cannot break it apart. Just like this family, bonded together for life through the individual strengths and virtues of each part of it. Bonded together through the greatest challenges.”
“Yes, family, and love, and bonds that can’t be broken. That is, for sure, the meaning of life.” The old man looked lovingly at his son, and each son looked at the other with new love and respect. “But there can be no greater meaning to life. Yet, you have one fragment left to show me still. How can that be?”
“Look closely, Dad.” Caspian handed the last rock to his father. “What is it?”
His father gasped. “Why, it’s a diamond! Why did you bring me this, so valuable, yet of so little worth to me now?”
“Because my dear father, I want to tell you how much this diamond represents the great gift of life you have given me. The purest of stones. Yet, so hard that nothing else is stronger. So clear and precise, that everything is seen more brilliantly through it. So alive that it captures even the brilliance of the sun and the stars. Yet it is nothing more than carbon: decayed life, pressured beyond coal to the greatest, the most extreme. Subjected to everything that life can throw at it, yet made more pure, more brilliant, more valuable, more perfect, for each new experience, for each new crisis, for each new pleasure it experiences. This diamond is life itself. A life improved each moment of each day, until, at the very end, it reaches perfection. For you, my father, for this diamond is you.”
With that, each son drew near, to hug their father, as he breathed his lastly happily. For he knew how valuable and valued he was, now, and for ever. And how perfect his life, with all its flaws had been. He was, after all, loved.

Often, life’s greatest trials are life’s most valuable treasures. Enjoy each moment.

TRAIN OF LIFE MANIFEST

“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one. 51 boxcars, daddy. The little girl smiled at her father, so proud to show him that she could count that high.
Her father smiled back at his little girl, seated in the car beside him, at the railway crossing. She was growing up, all right. Barely five, and able to take pride in what she was becoming.
“I wish I could ride on that train, now, daddy.” It was a wish she wished, out loud, every time the two of them saw a train. “ I wish I could go with that train to all the places it visits.”
And, every time her father would say “Some day, little one. Some day.”
Predictably, on the next occasion, she would wish, and he would reply, “Some day, little one. Some day.”
So, it was with some bewilderment, on this occasion, that the little girl waited for the customary response. Then, she fleshed her thought out for her father. “Some day, right, daddy?”
Her father smiled again. “No, little one. Not some day. Right now. Right now you are going on a train. Just close your eyes, and listen to me.”
Being five, the little one never thought to question, or disbelieve. Her eyes closed.
“Hear the train whistle, pint sized?”
Whether it was her imagination, or the recently passed train, in the distance, she heard, and nodded vigourously.
“Good. Good. Now this is a special train, a magic train, so you must keep your eyes shut tightly for the whole trip if you wish to see exciting, and magic things. Ready? Let’s be off.”
The girl could feel the vibration and swaying of the train immediately.
“Now, remember, your eyes must be closed to see. See where we are? She the conductor? See all the dials and buttons up here in the engine car?”
She could. She really could see it all! And with her eyes closed!
The conductor pulled a few levers, pushed a few buttons, tapped a few dials and lights, and the train lurched forward. Ever so slowly, it began to rumble down the track..
“Faster, daddy. I want it to go faster.”
“Be patient, little one. It takes a lot of work to get things going, and there’s a lot of work this engine has to do.”
How well she knew that! Many times she had counted twenty, or thirty, or even forty cars being pulled by one engine, or two. Why, sometimes she even counted fifty or so, and then had to start all over (because she couldn’t find the next numbers after 50), and had got to twenty or forty more. That was, for sure, a lot of work for an engine to do. Still, she was in a hurry.
“Don’t hurry the journey along, my child. The end of the track will get there soon enough. And we have to stop along the way, many times yet. This is a very, very long trip we are on.”
The little girl listened, and believed. The train rolled on, for what seemed like forever. As each wheel clacked and clicked over the rail gaps, she saw new and exciting wonders.
“What is that, daddy?”
“Why, it’s a mother robin teaching her baby to fly.”
And again she would ask, “What is that, daddy?”
“Why, it’s two little creeks holding hands, and growing bigger and stronger together.”
Again, “What is that, daddy?”
“It’s a bull elk, protecting its friends against the wolf.”
The trip lasted, and lasted, and lasted. Perhaps years, perhaps seconds. And still, the little girl asked, and listened, and learned. “What is that, daddy?’
Sometimes her father had to tell her things that were not so pleasant.
“Why, that’s a weasel, stealing eggs.” Or, “Why, that’s a fox, destroying the rabbit’s burrow.” Even harsher truths often had to be told. “That’s a dead deer, killed by a careless man,” or “That’s a lovebird, that died of a broken heart because no one was around for her to love.”
But most often the experiences were joyous, the journey a pleasure. And still, it continued.
The little girl seemed to be not so little, now. Sometimes, dreams came to her, as she scrunched her eyes tightly shut like her father told her to do. Dreams that she was going to school, meeting friends, doing lots of other novel things. She even dreamed she was growing taller, getting bigger, and the world around her was changing. But the train ride continued onward.
One day, her curiosity got the better of her. She had been, it seemed, in that engine room with her father for what seemed like years, and she was growing restless.
“I want to see the rest of the train.”
With that, she looked to the rear.
Her father sighed the sigh of a father with a teenage child. “OK, let’s go, then.”
The first few cars were crammed to the ceiling with what appeared to be nothing but rulers, and measuring sticks, and measuring cups of all sizes and shapes.
“Daddy, why are we hauling these things on the train? They’re useless.” Already, it seemed, she spoke like a teenager.
“They are important, very important,” was all he would say. They moved backward to the next series of cars.
These cars were equally puzzling to the girl. “But Daddy. All that’s in here are dozens, even hundreds of safes, and cash boxes, and money belts. And they’re all empty except for little scraps in each one. What possible value could they have?
“Believe me, those are not scraps. Those are the rarest of possible belongings.” And they moved backward in the train.
The next few cars were crammed full of people. Strangers, for the most part. All milling around. All getting in the way. The young lady was growing frustrated. “Absolutely useless,” she steamed.
“Absolutely essential,” her father corrected.
They had passed through perhaps thirty-five or more cars by now, and the young woman was tiring of the exploration, and of the trip.
“What could the engineer of this train possibly have been thinking! This entire train is a waste of time, and a waste of energy! It’s going no where of importance, and it’s carrying no cargo of any value!”
She only proceeded to the next series of cars at her father’s urging. Each car contained greater and greater junk, in her view. In her father’s opinion, there was greater and greater treasure in each trip to the rear of the train. But the end of the train seemed to be getting further and further away, as the unit magically grew more and more cars. The woman peered out the window of one unit, perhaps fifty cars into the train, and could still see no end in sight. But she was in less of a hurry now. And sometimes, the next car held a familiar surprise. Perhaps a familiar face appeared, or a pleasurable experience would occur to make the trip seem more enjoyable. In fact, as she moved from car to car, she was finding that she would open the cabin door eagerly in anticipation of a new or familiar experience. The train ride was a delight, once again.
Somewhere between the sixtieth and sixty-fifth car, though, she came to a stark realization. Her father was no longer by her side. An incredible sadness overwhelmed her, and for what seemed like months, she could summon no strength, to either move forward, or go back.
At long last, a voice within beckoned her. “Move on,’ it bellowed. “Move on to the rear.”
The old lady picked herself up, and trekked onward. But each car now revealed both new and old to her.
“Why, there’s that ruler – that rule that I learned about in the third car, “ she would say to herself. Or, “Why, that’s the value that was in the twelfth car.” Or even, that’s the scrap of information that I tossed aside in the twentieth car.” Even, “Why, those are the familiar faces who guided me through the twenty-fifth to fortieth cars.”
And, with those realizations, she knew at last. This was her train of life.
The whistle blew, and the conductor cried out “End of the line. Get your things together. We are nearing the end of the line.”
Panic, urgency attacked the old woman. She hastened as quickly as eighty-year-old legs would carry her to the rear of the car. She needed to see the end, before the end found her. She knew that final car carried essential secrets, and life’s treasures. And, at the end of the train, she would be farthest from it’s beginning, which meant that she would see the end of the journey at the last possible moment.
But the end was a disappointment, for it contained nothing new. Dejectedly, the octogenarian made her way forward, to face the inevitable, to be back at the front of her train when its journey ended. She was prepared.
But as she proceeded from car to car, a new surprise awaited her. For, each car was even more full than it had been when she previously visited. New memories, new treasures, new values, new friends, and new scraps.
“No wonder this train of life is slowing down,” she thought to herself as she opened the door to the engine car. “It’s carrying so much of a load.”
A long familiar voice answered, as if reading her thoughts.
“No, little one, you are wrong. For it’s the load that we carry that fuels our life. With no cargo to carry, this train would not need any cars. Without any cars, it would not need to make the trip. Without the trip, you might as well have never boarded this train of life. And it is this cargo that you, and those that will remember you, will carry for an eternity. It is a cargo of love, and life, and experience.”
With that, the little girl rushed into her aged father’s arms, as the train rumbled onward toward the end of the journey.

Train of Life Manifest
May your train of life experience a cargo of riches in its many scores of cars