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Chapter One: The Book and the Burden

One day, while wandering through the wilderness of this world, I came upon a cave and decided to rest. I laid down on the hard rock, closed my eyes, and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

As I slept, I found myself in a vivid dream. I saw a man in a worn, tattered tunic, standing outside his small cottage. He held an open book in his hands, and strapped tightly to his back was a bulky, cumbersome bundle that weighed him down, making him hunch under its heavy burden.

The man’s face was troubled as he read the book, because with every page he turned, the burden on his back seemed to grow, pressing him lower and lower. A quiet cry slipped from his lips, and soon tears began to stream down his face. At last, overcome with despair, he cried out, “What should I do?”

With a heavy sigh, the man closed the book and turned toward his cottage. Though he was reluctant to share the book’s message with his wife and children, he could no longer remain silent. He shuffled through the narrow doorway, the bundle scraping against the wooden frame. His family looked up at him with curious faces.

“My dear wife, my sweet children...” he began, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his shaky hands. “I carry a heavy burden, a dreadful truth that I must share with you.”

His wife and children stared at him, silent and wide-eyed. “This book warns me,” he continued, raising the object, “that our city is destined to be destroyed by fire from heaven! Unless we find a way to escape, we will all perish!”

The man saw a flash of fear on his family’s faces, but it quickly turned to disbelief as murmurs of “madness” filled the room. His wife, seeing that the sun had set, gently nudged him towards bed, hoping a good night’s rest would clear his mind. But the man couldn’t sleep. The night dragged on, filled with his ragged breaths and quiet sobs. When dawn broke, the man’s family anxiously gathered around him to ask about his state of mind. “I'm afraid my fears have only deepened,” he replied.

He then tried desperately to warn them again, to plead with them to believe, but their hearts remained hard. Instead, they tried to cure his madness by treating him harshly. They mocked him, then scolded him, and finally they ignored him altogether. Feeling utterly rejected and isolated, the man withdrew to his room, where he spent hours praying for his family and mourning his own misery. As nights turned into days and days into weeks, it became common to see the man’s hunched figure wandering the fields alone, praying aloud or reading his book.

One day, as the morning sun rose, the man walked along the edge of the forest, bent over his book and oblivious to the world around him. Suddenly, he let out a heart-wrenching cry, “What must I do to be saved!” His eyes darted around in panic, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, it seemed as though he might flee, but he remained frozen. It was clear to me that he had no idea which way to run.

Just then, a clear voice broke the silence. “Why such a cry, friend?” the voice asked.

The hunched man whipped his head toward the forest, his eyes wide. Just a few feet away, a tall, hooded stranger stood leaning against a tree.

The hunched man, his chest heaving, pointed a trembling finger at the book in his hand. “This book…” he choked out, tears welling up in his eyes, “it tells me that I am condemned to die and face a terrible judgment! But the thought of death fills me with dread, and the idea of judgment is even more unbearable.”

The stranger lowered his hood, revealing a face weathered by time and experience, marked with the lines of countless journeys. His sharp eyes studied the man's trembling form. “Why are you so afraid to die?” he asked gently. “Is life truly so pleasant that the thought of its end fills you with such fear?”

The hunched man took a shaky breath, the weight of his burden feeling heavier than ever. “Because,” he rasped, “I fear that this burden I carry, this terrible knowledge, will drag me down to a place far worse than the grave. To hell itself,” he whispered, the word a chilling hiss. “How can I hope to face the fiery judgment and then death? The very thought fills me with dread!”

“If this is your state, my friend,” said the stranger, “then why do you stand here paralyzed?”

The man threw his hands up in helplessness. “Because I don’t know where to go! There is nowhere left to turn.”

A knowing glint flickered in the stranger’s eyes. He reached into a leather satchel and retrieved a small scroll. He unfurled it and handed it to the man. Written on the scroll, in bold lettering, were the words: “Flee from the wrath to come.”

The man's gaze moved from the scroll to the stranger's face, and back again. Despite his trepidation, something within him stirred. “Where should I flee to, sir?” he asked finally. “In what direction does salvation lie?”

The stranger raised his hand and pointed across the vast fields. “Do you see the Narrow Gate in the distance?” he asked.

The man squinted, straining his eyes until they watered. He shook his head. “No, I see nothing but these endless fields.”

The stranger gestured more broadly. “Then perhaps you can see that light on the far horizon?”

The man peered again. This time, after a moment of intense searching, he managed a weak nod. “Yes, I think I see it just barely, a faint glow.”

“Keep your eyes fixed on that light, my friend,” the stranger instructed, “and run towards it with all your might. As you get closer, you will see the Narrow Gate. When you reach it, knock, and you will be told what to do.”

The hunched man straightened a bit, his face brightening with a glimmer of hope. “Thank you, sir!” he exclaimed. “But, sir, if I may ask,” he stammered, “what is your name?”

The stranger smiled, then pulled his hood back over his head. “In this land, I am known as Evangelist, the bringer of good news.” He placed both hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “Until our paths cross again,” he said. And with that, the stranger turned and disappeared into the forest.

Then, in my dream, I saw the hunched man take a deep breath. With new determination in his eyes, he tucked the scroll into his pocket and began to run. His legs pumped furiously, kicking up dust that swirled in the air.

Inside the cottage, his wife and children noticed the rising dust through the window and hurried outside. They called out to him, their shouts filled with confusion and worry. But the man kept running, pressing his hands over his ears to block out their cries, shouting, “Life! Life! Eternal life!” He ran and ran toward the light ahead, not daring to look back.

“Christian!” his family cried, their voices fading with each step he took. “Where are you going? Come back, Christian!”