She must have been terrified as she pulled up to the bank in that canoe. The labor pains were already starting, but she had no way to communicate that aside from the groans. When she went into labor, she was only sixteen. Surrounded by Indians from another tribe, in a place she had never been, with people she had never met… and in the most vulnerable state she had ever been in.
And when that baby was born, through blood and tears and sweat and pain, it was cherished.
It was cherished by the same God who cherished my two babies who entered this world surrounded by those I love.
We serve a God who cares about us so intimately and to think, imagine, He loves these people I serve with a holy love. These Indians He sent His Son to die for.
These Indians He cherishes.
And I pray that I can love them this way. That I can wake up each day and cherish them because God cherishes me. I am His daughter after all.
As she held that baby for the very first time, exhausted and overwhelmed, she must have felt it. That same feeling that God feels for her. I pray one day she will know it. One day she'll see that she is no less than those foreigners who snarl their noses at her. Who look down on her for her culture.