Lynell Waterman tells the story of the blacksmith who decided to give up his youthful excesses and consecrate his soul to God. For many years, he worked hard and performed many acts of charity; yet despite all his devotion, nothing seemed to go right in his life. On the contrary, problems and debts merely seemed to mount up.
One afternoon, a friend was visiting him and, taking pity on the blacksmith’s sorry situation, he said:
‘It really is very strange that as soon as you decided to become a God-fearing man, your life should immediately have taken such a turn for the worse. I wouldn’t want to weaken your faith, but, despite your firm belief in the spiritual world, nothing in your life has improved.’
The blacksmith did not reply at once; he had often thought the same thing himself, unable to understand what was happening in his life.
He wanted to give his friend an answer, however, and so he began to talk and ended up finding the explanation he was seeking. This is what the blacksmith said:
‘The unworked steel arrives in my workshop and I have to make swords out of it. Do you know how that is done? First, I heat the metal until it is red-hot, then I beat it mercilessly with my heaviest hammer until the metal takes on the form I need. Then I plunge it into a bucket of cold water and the whole workshop is filled with the roar of steam, while the metal sizzles and crackles in response to the sudden change in temperature. I have to keep repeating that process until the sword is perfect: once is not enough.’
The blacksmith paused for a long time, lit a cigarette, then went on:
‘Sometimes the steel I get simply can’t withstand such treatment. The heat, the hammer blows, the cold water cause it to crack. And I know that I will never be able to make it into a good sword blade. Then I throw it on the pile of scrap metal that you saw at the entrance to the workshop.’
Another long pause, then the blacksmith concluded:
‘I know that God is putting me through the fire of afflictions. I have accepted the blows that life deals out to me, and sometimes I feel as cold and indifferent as the water that inflicts such pain on the steel. But my one prayer is this: Please, God, do not give up until I have taken on the shape that You wish for me. Do this by whatever means You think best, for as long as You like, but never ever throw me on the scrap heap of souls.’
Daily Archive for August 22nd, 2007
Best-Selling Author Paulo Coelho’s Journey Among the Armenians
“This book, telling the story of a shepherd boy named Santiago, is about following your dreams,” said my Chinese friend.
“Its message is powerful and simple: If you really believe in something, the whole universe conspires with you to achieve it. Take it to Beirut with you and read it,” she continued.
Thousands of miles away from home, I was being offered a book I had on my own bookshelf, but had never read. Thus, on September 10, 2000, in Shenyang, China, my story with The Alchemist had begun.
As I was reading the book on the plane on my way back, I felt I could easily relate to the message of the novel: We had to go to far away lands, sometimes, to find treasures hidden in our backyard.
“I will translate this book to Armenian one day,” I thought, as the captain was announcing our arrival at the Beirut International Airport.
In October 2003, I started interviewing writers …
This article is written by Khatchig Mouradian @ The Armenian Weekly. You can visit the journalist blog : Paulo Coelho in Armenia to read more articles about the story of Coelho’s pilgrimage to Armenia.
Like his other novels, Coelho’s latest is an incredibly beautiful read about a woman born in Transylvania to a Gypsy mother and who’s later adopted by a wealthy Lebanese couple.
As a child, Sherine Khalil renames herself Athena. She shows a strong religious vocation and reports seeing angels and saints, which impresses and worries her parents.
As the book begins, Athena is dead. How she ended up that way creates the intrigue that attempts to sustain the book.
You can visit seattlepi.com to read this news and many others.
