There once was a tribe of indians who a long time ago lived out in the wild and dangerous wilderness. They were a normal tribe, who’s days were spent living, hunting, birthing, fighting, farming, loving, building, caring, and carrying on with all the normal things of which life consists. There were other tribes all over too. Some fairly were close by. But most were distant, and this tribe only had vague ideas of what the far-off ones were really like. With the closer tribes, they mostly lived in ways where their paths sometimes crossed as each went about the activities of daily living. Sometimes there were skirmishes, but mostly there was relative peace, and sometimes they even had seasons of working together towards a mutually beneficial venture.
Then one day, things drastically, suddenly, and tragically changed…forever. One of the distant tribes, who to this tribe were only a cloudy, shadowy people of whom they had very little real knowledge, came with a fierce and awesome vengeance to attack. While this little tribe lived in relative peace, focused for generations on simple daily living; the attackers had been bent on mastering the art of war, conquest, and bloodshed. The little tribe, who for some unknown reason seemed to be almost singled out for this vicious attack, never stood a chance. They tried to rally the troops because they were a valiant and courageous people. They quickly gathered up the spears, axes, bows, and whatever weapons they had. All the hunters, and the ones who had shown some natural ability for fighting in the little skirmishes they’d had with the neighboring tribes, were rushed to be first to confront the attacking tribe. But all was lost before the first warhorse even charged into the camp. The others were masters of war. The hunters and braves were annihilated with disturbing ease. The attacking tribe, without the slightest hesitation, immediately turned and methodically and feverishly began seeking out and putting to death the rest of the men and fighting-age boys. Next the attackers, in almost dance-like synchronization, moved on to killing even the women and older girls. All that was left was a few structures, some damaged tools & weapons, and a little food…barely anything because all the rest had been trampled under the stampede of relentless warhorse hooves. And the children were left; nursing babies, playful little boys & girls, and 1 or 2 who were barely teenagers. Dazed. Confused. In shock. Left alone in the wilderness. No fathers. No mothers. The tribe of war didn’t waste their energy on them, knowing they’d soon perish in the hard, unfeeling, predator-infested wilderness.
But in the heart of one or two of the older children, the ones who were barely teenagers, there was an immediate voice that spoke on the inside and seemed to awaken out of no where. It was tender and yet seemed as though the strength of all the earth and universe was behind it. The voice was whispering “I am the Father to the fatherless”. “You will be my tribe now, and now I will care for you”. “Learn to look to me, and I will teach you My ways”.
Since the voice came from places the children could not see, it was difficult for them to learn the new ways. Since they were all children, they mostly lived each day by reacting to their childish drives for stimulation in play, fighting over which teepee who gets to sleep in, who gets to keep which shiny tool or weapon in his or her teepee, who gets what to eat, what games would be played, who decides things, and so on. Some of the older children, overcome by the fear of not surviving, ventured out to see if one of the other tribes would take them in. But for the ones who stayed, over time, the One behind the voice slowly helped them see His protective wall, consistent provision, wise ways, and great love. They eventually realized, one by one, that with the One behind the voice, they actually have a much better tribe than when they even had their fathers and mothers. They began to stop fighting over childish things, only thinking of and working towards what each wants for himself, and they actually learned to care for each other and depend on each other for survival. They grew to do much more than merely survive, too. They grew to thrive! The power they sensed behind the voice was only revealed to them as they looked back and realized they had not only survived after the attack that took their fathers and mothers, and the blanketing fear that walked through the doors of gaping wounds left from their absence; but that the One had actually been more closely caring for them than their real parents could have ever even imagined. The One behind the voice had grown them into a thriving beacon of His glory… revealing the true force of His power…Divine Love.
The little tribe spent the rest of their time banded together, enjoying the One behind the voice’s love, helping each other see His ways more clearly, grow to love and live in His ways; providing for each other, fighting for each other, serving each other, raising their children so that they can see and know Him, and embracing anyone who drifted in and desired to follow the One behind the voice with them.
Praise to the One behind the voice!
For my brothers and sisters.
Love you all,
Trevor
March 2004
Trevor Honeycutt 