by James Webb
High in the mountains was a gem mine, owned collectively by several villages in the region. The mine was worked by a single man who, twice a year, would travel from village to village, distributing the precious stones that he had worked from the earth.
The workshop smelt of oil and sweat,
Of stone and wood and clay.
The tools of many disciplines,
Around, about they lay.
The handyman, he raised his head:
“How may I help today?” Read more
The other day I was walking aimlessly around the church building, and I found myself wandering down a corridor I had never been down before. I’m not usually the adventurous type, but I thought I’d see where it ended up. At the end of the corridor was a big, thick, old wooden door. As I said, I’m not the adventurous type, but I took a look anyway.
The door opened into a large room, and it was absolutely full of people. There were all kinds in there, old and young, men and women. Anyone that you could imagine was there, and they were all busy with something. There was a group of people painting the walls, and a group of people setting out chairs, and a group of people cleaning the carpets, and all sorts of things going on.
I thought they must be preparing for some type of church service or something. Everyone was working so hard, and the room looked amazing. I mean, it’s hard to get the feel of a room right sometimes, but these people had nailed it. The way that everything was set out, the colours of the walls and carpet, the clean windows, the smell. I don’t know exactly what it was, but it was without a doubt, hands-down, the best room I had ever seen anywhere in any church ever.
I stood in the doorway watching them work for a while. One of the painters ended up near me, meticulously applying some magnolia to the wall beside to the door.
“What time does it start?” I said.
“What?” he said without looking at me. He was giving all of his concentration to the painting.
“The service, or whatever it is you have here. What time does it start?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It must be soon though? The way everyone’s working so hard.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, how long have you been doing this?” I said.
He stopped painting long enough to shrug. “A while. Days. Months. Maybe longer.”
“Months?” I looked around the room. All these people working so hard. For months? “But it shouldn’t take months to get a room ready, should it?”
“The wall could always do with another coat,” he said. “You know how it is. You’ve just finished and then you notice a patch that needs touching up. A fingerprint or smear that needs covering. It’s the same with the carpet. And you’d be surprised at how much work has to go into getting the chairs just right.”
“But why?” I said.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Why are you doing this?”
He finally turned his attention to me. “Because the room has to be ready. We have to work hard to get the room ready. It’s the way to please God.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah,” the man said. “God wants us to work hard. It pleases Him. Then we get to go and be with Him forever.”
“Huh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s how it is. Would you like to join us? The guys in the kitchen could always do with one more. There’s just so much washing up.”
“No,you’re alright,” I said. I looked at the watch I wasn’t wearing. “I think I’ll be going now.”
“It’s your soul,” said the man. He went back to his painting.
I backed out of the room and carefully shut the door. As I turned to leave, I saw the sign above the door. It was quite small. I hadn’t noticed it before. It read ‘Welcome to Hell’.
The disciple sat down, cross-legged and attentive, at his master’s feet.
“Teach me,” he said.
“Let me tell you a story,” said the master.
“There was once a man who had two sons. The eldest son was clever and handsome, while the youngest son lacked all of his brother’s gifts. However, being clever and handsome does not necessarily make you a nice person. The older brother teased his younger brother mercilessly, mocking him for his lack of intellect and good looks. The younger brother didn’t always understand his older brother’s jokes, but he knew when he was being made fun of, and he tired of this quite quickly.”
“One day the younger brother decided that he’d had enough, and that he was going to take his belongings and leave home. ‘I’m going to just walk and see where my feet take me,’ he said, and off he went.”
“So, on the first day, he just walked in a straight line. But something strange began to happen. He was amazed to see that, as he passed, the animals of the forest were leaving their woodland homes to follow him.”
“On the second day, he kept walking, and the trees of the forest began to uproot and join the animals following him.”
“On the third day, he kept walking. As night fell, he noticed that the moon and the stars in the sky were also following him. Why was this?”
“I don’t know,” the disciple said.
The master smiled.
“These days, you don’t need charisma or intellect. You don’t even need to know where you’re going. These days, if you just look like you’re walking with purpose, the whole world will follow you.”
Daisy wiped the tear from her cheek with a perfect white handkerchief.
“I know you all understand my struggle. It’s just so…so hard,” she said. “Oh, that sounds silly. To say it’s ‘hard’. I just don’t know any other word.”
“It’s a perfectly good word,” said Thomas, reaching out and patting her on the shoulder.
“And it’s perfectly accurate,” said Maureen, her lips stretched in a thin line. Daisy nodded glumly.
Maureen continued. “That’s why we’re here. To support and help one another. We all understand. We ‘re all in the same boat here at the Over Eighteens.”
The Over Eighteens had been meeting weekly at Thomas’s house for the past year. There were seven of them. Daisy, Maureen and, of course, Thomas were the founding members. Billy (no-one called him William) and his wife Trish joined soon after, shortly followed by George. Jayne (yes, that was how she spelled it) was new to the group. This was her first meeting.
Every Thursday morning they gathered around the coffee table in Thomas’s lounge, squeezed on sofas (and chairs brought in from the dining room) and encouraged one another. That was the purpose of the group, to share and encourage, and to share and encourage in one particular struggle. The name Over Eighteens referred not to age, but to weight. The only thing in the group that could be called thin was Maureen’s lips. Everyone bore the same burden, of struggling with their size.
Thomas glanced at his watch.
“I think that’s enough for today.” He looked over at Jayne. “It’s been excellent to have you here this morning, Jayne. We always finish with a…well, I guess you could call it a creed of sorts. We say it together, you know, to make us all feel like we’re united in this.”
Jayne nodded nervously.
“Just listen, and you’ll pick it up soon enough,” Thomas said, nodding at the rest of the group.
“We agree that we’re overweight,” the group said, in unison. “But we don’t want to be. We’d like to be thin. In the meantime, we will support each other, listen to each other’s struggles without judgement, encourage each other and look forward to the day when we are all our perfect weight.”
Silence settled on the thoughtful group.
“Now,” said Thomas, clapping his hands together, “who wants a cup of tea?”
There was a chorus of responses as Thomas stood up and moved through to the kitchen.
“You should come over for dinner sometime, love,” said Trish, smiling at Jayne.
“That would be nice, “ said Jayne, smiling back.
“Cor, yes, I love it when we have guests,” said Billy. “Trish always goes to town with the deserts!”
“I’m surprised you have any room left for desert,” interjected George. “After all, I saw how much you put away at the All You Can Eat Pizza Buffet yesterday!”
“You can talk!” said Billy, laughing.
Thomas returned from kitchen.
“Kettle’s on,” he said, placing a huge, heavy plate on the coffee table. On the plate was the biggest chocolate cake that Jayne had ever seen. “Who wants a slice?”
Hands shot up around the room. Jayne kept her hand down.
“Ummmmm,” she said, as though she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to begin.
“Go on,” said Maureen, smiling with those thin lips. “Have some. Thomas is a fantastic baker.”
“I’m sure he is, but…” Jayne stopped.
“But what?” said Daisy.
“Well, shouldn’t we…well, I’m trying to diet.” Jayne bowed her head, as though she’d confessed to some awful crime.
“Oh, of course you are,” said George. “We’re all trying to diet, aren’t we?”
Ernest nods and grunts of agreement.
“The thing is,” said Daisy. Jayne looked up to see her wiping a thick smear of chocolate icing from her cheek with that no-longer perfect white handkerchief. “The thing is, that it’s difficult, isn’t it?”
More nods and grunts.
“After all, that’s why we’re here. Because it’s hard, as Daisy said earlier,” said Thomas.
“We’re all in favour of diets. That’s what we’re all after – the ultimate goal is losing weight – but it’s not quite that simple, is it?” said Daisy.
“I don’t know what I’d do without this group,” said Trish, through a mouthful of smushed chocolate cake, “to lift my spirits and help me feel better about things.”
“That’s right,” said Thomas, nodding. “That’s absolutely right.”
Jayne looked around at the group, as they grinned at her, encouragingly. She knew that she would feel more encouraged if they didn’t all have chocolate-stained teeth. She made a decision.
“It’s been lovely to meet you all,” Jayne said, standing up. “But I have to go now. The truth is, I think I’m in the wrong group.”
The gathering sat in silence as she left the room. After a short moment they heard the front door slam.
“That’s a shame,” said Thomas. “Now, who’s for seconds?”
There was once a rich man, who owned many wonderful and precious things, and he loved those things greatly. There was, however, one thing that he loved more than all of his possessions, all of his wealth, and that was himself. Read more
