It doesn't matter where you live, there was once a country far away. In this country, there were many hills, but one hill stood far higher than any others. No one ever climbed it, not even the children. The people called it the "Hill of God." No one was quite sure why.
In this faraway country lived an old man by himself. His home was small but enough, and it faced the Hill of God. Each morning, he would take his morning cup and sit on the doorstep, watching the weather and the seasons change.
One morning as he was sitting there, he thought to himself, "I wonder why no one has ever tried to climb the Hill of God. There are a lot of old trails, so someone has been there long before."
And one morning after that, he set his cup on the doorstep and walked to the Hill. He found an old trail easily enough, and, with no small trepidation, he started following it. Up and down it went, but farther upward each time. It wound around through wild roses and boulders, around crooked trees and patches of great, waving grasses. He followed and followed and then it seemed as if the trail was going down more than up. At last, he looked ahead and saw that he was almost to the place where he started.
The trail had gone nowhere; at least nowhere he wanted to go. He determined that the next day he would take another one and he did. The sun was barely over the top of the Hill when he firmly set his cup on the doorstep and walked to the Hill. He turned to the left this time, looking for the start of another trail and soon found it. It seemed steeper than the last one, so he became confident that it was going "somewhere" and not just meandering around as the other trail had.
Alas and alack, as they say. The second trail did lead more steeply, but it also ended at the bottom of the Hill, although some distance away from the old man's home.
Two or maybe three days later, he tried it again. The trail he chose this time went almost straight up, then turned into a very rocky area. He climbed on and on, then suddenly there was a great chasm right at his feet. One more step would have plunged him over the edge.
His heart pounding, he sat on a rock and stared at the chasm. He could see the trail on the other side, but there was no way to get across. He got up and looked again. The chasm was so deep he couldn't see the bottom but he had a sense that others had fallen over the edge and disappeared. The thought chilled him and he told himself that he was being silly.
After awhile, he sadly went back home. The next day, he sat on his doorstep and looked at the Hill. Why did the trails always end up going nowhere or stopping at a chasm before he could get to the top? Was there any way one could ever get to the top?
As he thought about these things, he heard a voice that said, "I will show you." He looked around, but no one was there so he chided himself for having such an imagination. Then he heard the voice again and this time, he knew whoever said it was smiling. "I will show you how to get to the top."
With a sense of forboding but excitement, he put his cup on the doorstep and started walking toward the Hill.
It wasn't long until he spotted an old trail that was covered with brambles and brush. Something seemed to beckon him along, so he carefully pushed aside the brambles and stepped onto the trail. It was rough, with large rocks and thorny bushes growing right in it, but he followed the beckoning presence regardless.
Throughout the day, when the sun was hot and his feet tired, he climbed. When he was so thirsty he could hardly stand it, a spring appeared and he drank. It was after noon now but he had no thought of turning back. Something kept compelling him forward.
At long last, as the shadows of evening began to turn the hillside purple and gold, he looked up and saw that he was almost there.
"Come," said the voice, and he walked forward another few steps. Suddenly, the Hill seemed alive. There was a hush that he could feel and then a great, soaring chorus rose high on the air.
"The King comes, the King comes, make way... make way!"
Not knowing what to do, the old man stood and waited.
A huge room opened in the sky right above him. There was a long aisle, with a carpet embroidered in silver and gold, that led to where one would expect a throne. On the throne was the Ancient of Days. The old man had never seen him before. He had never even heard of him, but he knew that was who it was. In his right hand where a scepter was usually seen, the Ancient of Days held a simple wooden cross.
At his side peacefully lay a large and beautiful lion whose eyes glowed like embers. Standing at his feet was a small lamb with gashes on its head and wounds on its feet.
Along the aisle stood beings of some kind, all in long, flowing robes, who cheered the old man along when he appeared. He began to walk up the aisle, with every being smiling, clapping and seeming to be very happy he was there.
Behind the cross was a crowd of even more strangely dressed beings. Some had robes, some had kilts, some had business suits and some had rough trousers and shirts. All were singing the song he had heard before.
As the old man tried to make sense of all this, the voice that had guided him became embodied in one of the beings along the aisle.
"Behold, the King." And the being turned and smiled at him with a kindly smile. "Our Lord, and yours, if you so wish."
A king? A lion? A lamb? Lord? He didn't realize he had spoken those words out loud, until the angel smiled at him again.
The old man looked again at the Ancient of Days, at the Lion and the Lamb. There was a story here that he wasn't sure he understood, but he decided to find out. This was the culmination of a great and sweeping plan, that much he knew.
You can finish the story any way you like, but know that while this was a "made up" story, the characters and the end result is very real; more real than your life on this earth. Believe that or don't believe it, but I hope you do. The choice is completely yours. Don't make it too lightly or too quickly.
And never forget that there are crowds of angels watching and waiting for you.
