Chapter 22

A Place of Light and Song

Temples were places where the People of the Book gathered to read, pray and sing together. There were rows and rows of wooden benches to sit on, elegantly engraved stone walls and bright stained-glass windows. Further in, was a staircase that led up to a kind of stage where the sacred Ceremony of Light was held.

The Ceremony of Light was the most important part of going to church. When the reading, singing and speeches were over, the priest would walk to an alter and drop a special blue and yellow crystal into a pitcher of water. The blue in it would cleanse and cool the water. The yellow would make it sparkle and shine. Then, he’d say a prayer and pour the water into a pink crystal chalice that everyone would take turns drinking from. The person who helped him hold and serve the sacred water was called “the Light Bearer.” Only a little girl was allowed to do it.

When Sophie entered, she lowered her eyes, put her hands together and whispered a little prayer. That was how the People of the Book said hello to God. Then she looked up at the alter and bowed to the big, fancy golden copy of the Book, which sat upon a silver pedestal.

“Welcome, my child,” said a man dressed in long white robes. He had a short grey beard and a gentle smile. His voice was soft, deep and slow—like the tone of someone reading you a pleasant bedtime story. “Please, come in!” he said, extending his even whiter staff.

“Jean-Pierre!” our heroine whispered.

Sophie bowed to the man just as low as she had to the alter. Then she took him by the hand and kissed his ring. That was where he kept that special blue and yellow crystal when it wasn’t being used. It chilled and tickled her lips.

“Sorry I’m a little early!” she continued. “But I wanted to talk to you about something—if you have time.”

“Certainly,” he replied, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Jean-Pierre was such a kind man. The way he looked at people made them feel so special. Sophie loved the feel of his soft, warm robes. She couldn’t help curling up in them as they walked.

Slowly, he led our heroine up the stairs. They made sure to bow together in perfect unison every time they passed a holy relic. There were scrolls, sculptures and the prettiest, sweetest-smelling candles all the way up. When they reached the top, they pulled up two fancy chairs and sat across from one another.

“Some tea?” he whispered.

“Oh, yes please!”

He poured her a little cup from the sacred teapot.

“Thank you!”

Then he reached into a cupboard and pulled out a small silver tin.

“Turkish delight?” he asked next, opening it. Sophie gasped. Her favorite!

“How lovely!”

He had licorice and some chocolate marshmallow squares too. They sat together nibbling, chatting about recipes and making yummy sounds for several minutes before starting. The People of the Book rarely did anything without eating or drinking first.

“So,” said Jean-Pierre finally, leaning back in his chair, wiping all the powdery sugar from his beard. “What’s on your mind?”

Sophie was now feeling so comfortable that she almost forgot. She had to think for a moment before remembering.

“I wanted to ask you a question. It’s about God.”

“Oh? Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. What is your question, my child? If I know the answer, I shall surely tell you.”

Sophie tried to think of the best way of asking but couldn’t make up her mind. So, instead, she just blurted it out.

“Jean-Pierre,” she sighed. “How do you know what God wants you to do?”

The priest paused and began stroking his beard in deep thought. “Ah, a very good question,” he said, hemming and hawing. “Hmm . . . Mmm . . . a very good question indeed.” He took out his pipe and lit it, taking two or three big puffs before answering. In Sophie’s experience, that was always a sign he was about to give a really good answer. She waited patiently.

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“Well,” he said finally. “There are lots of ways. You know, it’s a little like those stories you’re always writing. You’re an author, aren’t you? A creator . . . designer . . . You have characters who you want to do things. Well, how do they figure it out?”

What a funny question! Sophie had never really thought about her books that way before. She just wrote whatever came to mind. How did she get her characters to know what to do? Sophie thought about them and did her best to remember.

“I suppose I give them clues,” she answered.

“Go on . . .” he said, taking another puff of his pipe.

“Things happening around them . . . people in their lives . . . being in the right place at the right time.”

“Only around them?”

She thought some more.

“No—on the inside too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I create them a certain way. If I want them to do something, I put a deep, deep desire for it in their hearts, or maybe a special talent just for that purpose. There are no coincidences. No, sir! Everything happens for a reason! Even little things. Especially little things! These, I think, are the most common ways they learn what to do.”

“Well,” answered Jean-Pierre. “It’s the same with God.” He stood up and walked to the alter, lifting the Golden Book from the pedestal. “Here,” he said, gently placing it in her lap. Then he pulled up his chair and sat next to her. “Go on. Open it and see.”

The Book was heavy and beautifully ornamented. It took both hands to lift open the cover. The words inside were written using very rare crystal ink. The pages were special too. As she turned them, they glittered and glowed like the book was alive.

“God did the same things with the characters in His Book. The same hints . . . the same clues . . . inside and outside, as you say. Often, learning what He wanted them to do was simply a case of opening their eyes and looking for it.”

“But that was then,” answered Sophie. “This is now. I’m not a character in the Book.”

“No, that’s true. But just because a book is over, it doesn’t mean the story is. The God who provided us with this Book is the same God who exists today. He is everywhere—at all times—both inside and around us. The Book may be over,” he said gently closing it. “But His story is still going on, even right now as we speak—in this very room. Look around. Think back and try to remember, as if you were a character in His next book. What clues might He be giving you, Sophie? What people might He have put into your life? What special desires . . . or gifts?”

“Hmm,” she thought.

I would encourage you to look back and do the same, reader. Can you find any clues?

First, Sophie thought of her prayer that morning. Then, she thought of her conversation with her mother and Mr. Stanley. Next, she thought of her mysterious father . . . and Motumbo . . . and Narissa. That feeling she got when looking at the Dragon King’s mountain! That feeling she got when watching everyone in the village square! Last, she thought about her powers. What could they be for? She looked up and out of the window and saw the mountain once again . . . the third time that day. Suddenly our heroine started feeling very, very worried.

“OoOoOo . . .” she sighed, holding her belly. “I don’t feel so good . . .”

“Of course, the easiest way,” added the priest next, shrugging, “is just to ask God.”

“Hmm!?”

Sophie’s eyes shot up at him. He said it as casually as if he were commenting on the tea he was sipping.

“Oh, yes. Why not? He is here after all. Come on, give it a try.”

“Uh,” muttered Sophie hesitantly. “You mean . . . right now?”

She looked back down towards the entrance way. That was odd! People should have been coming in by then. Their time was up. She could see the shapes and shadows of them through the window, but no one entered. Narissa must have been distracting them.

“Sure!” said the priest. “What better time?”

But Sophie wasn’t so sure she wanted to anymore.

“OoOoOo . . .” she groaned again, holding her belly.

“I hope the Turkish delight is alright. I was told it was fresh. Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little under the weather.”

“No . . . it’s not that,” she sighed.

“Well then, come on. You do want to know, don’t you? For He will only answer if you’re sure. When you ask Him, you must do so with a full heart . . . an open mind . . . ready and willing to do whatever it is . . . even if its something uncomfortable or dangerous. God speaks to the patient . . . to good listeners . . . to those who are brave enough to trust. Do you really want to know what God wants you to do, Sophie? Do you trust Him? Are you willing to say yes?”

“Yes!” she answered, remembering. “I do! I am! I’m just . . . a little scared . . . that’s all.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” replied Jean-Pierre, taking her by the hand and leading her to the alter. He helped her to her knees and placed her hands together. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be ready. Focus now, my child. Think of the exact question you wish to ask. Try to relax, so you’ll be able to hear. Sometimes, He speaks in words. Sometimes, in pictures, like a dream. Remember, He created you. He knows your every thought, feeling and deepest desire. If you reach out to Him, you must trust He will respond in a way you will understand.”

Sophie felt the warm sunlight on her face. She took a deep breath and did her best to relax her whole body. “Okay,” she sighed as he backed away. “Here it goes.” She focused with all her heart, and all her mind, on the one she’d be addressing. “God . . . Sir . . . please tell me. What is it you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything—if you tell me.”