(Part 4.)
AND now we must turn back again to the record of the little boy, Astathes. That word means “Waverer,” and that describes the character of this boy. First of all, impressed by the King’s message, he had almost crossed the stile, and accompanied his friend, Agape (Love), but held back by the fear of hardship or loss, he returned to his idle companions. Now we find him weary with amusement, unsatisfied by the good things of the garden, once more standing by the stile, vainly wishing he had crossed it in the early hours of the morning. Now as he looked over the pathway before him, it seemed narrower and steeper than ever, while the thorns appeared in places like a wall through which he could never make his way, and as he looked his heart sank and he wept bitterly. Perhaps he would have stood there till the darkness fell, but suddenly a voice seemed to sound beside him, and the words he heard were these, “How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation?” (Heb. 2:33How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation; which at the first began to be spoken by the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by them that heard him; (Hebrews 2:3).)
At last roused to action, he gathered all his courage, and sprang over the stile. Either the way was really narrower than it had been in the morning, or he did not tread so steadily as Agape; for where he had run, Astathes could now scarcely creep. The path was steep, and the thorns scratched his feet and ankles, till they were wounded and bleeding; the sun too was at its height, and the heat made him ready to faint. Then he thought of his water bottle, but it had been corked so long that the cork had got firmly fixed, and it was slow work getting it out. At last, however, he did, and the words, “Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out,” seemed to bring hope and comfort to his spirit. He had not yet reached the top of the hill, when the storm that overtook Agape in the King’s arbor, fell upon him on the bare hillside. Heavily did it beat upon him, as the rain fell in torrents, and the fierce gusts of the whirlwind swept by him. The ground, too, became miry with the rain, so that he often slipped down, bruising himself, and soiling his garments. At last, however, he reached the top, and down the other side of the slope he got on rather better, though there, too, he slipped about and got more than one fall. But when he reached the stream at the bottom, which had been so easily crossed in the morning, he found it a roaring torrent, dashing along, foaming, boiling, eddying, carrying all along in its course.
Poor Astathes! What shall he do; give up forever the thought of the beautiful Home, or venture into the stream? “I cannot give it up,” he exclaimed, and as he spoke he spied the posts which were set to guard travelers in the time of floods. So plucking up a little courage, he began to creep along by them. First the water was ankle deep, then to his knees, then to his waist, and still the boy kept on, holding fast to the posts. But as it grew still deeper, and he began to be lifted off his feet, his courage failed, and he felt that in his own strength he could never cross the flood. Then, for the first time, he thought of his flute. With sore trouble he drew it out, and tried to make music upon it, but not a note could he sound. Then he saw that while playing idly in the garden, or in his many falls, the earth had stopped up the small holes in it, so that no sound could pass. Here, however, the waters helped him, and ere long he could sound a few notes, and so soon as its sound was heard, the waters began to sink, and amidst their rushing and roaring, the poor child heard a sweet voice which said, “Call upon Me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee,” and again, “When thou passest through the floods they shall not overflow thee.” Thus comforted and helped he reached the other side, where he lay down upon the grass, exhausted and benumbed, but his difficulties had taught Astathes many lessons, and first among them the use of his precious bottle, so he had recourse to it not once, but again and again, and presently was able to pursue his journey once more.
Now he had reached the thick wood, and as he entered it the sun sank behind the hills. Very hard he found it to trace the path, by the faint light that remained, and more than once he found himself on the very brink of a deep pitfall, and only saved himself from falling in by catching at the neighboring bushes. On all sides of him, too, wild beasts were roaring.
How he repented of wasting those bright morning hours, and not passing through the wood while the sun was high. And how did he escape all these dangers? Not by his own wisdom or skill certainly. As he came into the wood, he put his flute to his mouth and though the strains that came from it were often poor and feeble, no wild beast would touch him, while its music was heard. And .by degrees the flute became clearer, and its sounds more sweet, and though perhaps no song of triumph rose from it, the notes were sweet and clear, and told of trust in the One who alone could bring him through.
So he passed on, often weary and distressed and discouraged, but slowly and painfully nevertheless approaching the happy Home. The restful arbor he passed by in the darkness, but his eyes were upon a light in the distance, which grew brighter and brighter, till at last he. too reached that golden gate, and Astathes, poor wavering Astathes himself, of the King’s bounteous goodness, entered the heavenly garden.
ML 03/25/1917