WHEN GOD ANSWERED –A TRUE STORY OF RESCUE                               

     I am about to recount a true story which has been passed down orally by the Chippewas of Nawash at the then Cape Croker Indian Reserve.  I heard it most often from my late husband Rien, who heard it from the locals, and who would be able to tell me important details which I may have forgotten, if he were still alive.  Almost thirty years have passed since we left the reserve, and this story still fills my heart with wonder.  Details may vary, and names have been changed, but the essence of the story remains the same.

 Shish  -- shish – shish.  The rhythm of the paddles slipping through the dark November waters north of the Cape Croker Indian Reserve was almost hypnotic.  Snow and ice were already closing in, but there was still a large expanse of open water in this transition time between fall and winter.  The two younger men in the bow and middle of the long canoe shivered in their jackets and hunched over their paddles, pulling harder to get to their destination: a remote island where  deer were plentiful.  The old man, the Wise One, his inscrutable eyes peering intently from a starburst of wrinkles, silently commanded the stern.

Joe, in front, spoke over his shoulder:

“Hey, String Bean, we gonna catch some game here, or what?”

String Bean, his lanky frame justifying the nickname he had had for so long that no one but his mother remembered his real name, replied with a flourish of his paddle:

              “Yeah, me, I’m gonna aim my trusty bow and ping dem off like at the carnival.  You jus’ wait and see.  Bes’ friend, my bow.  Never lets me down.”

              “Good ‘ting we brought dat dummy canoe we’re towin’ den, you’s gonna catch so much game.”

              The wind whipped their faces, pelting them with stinging snowflakes.

Joe looked around nervously.

              “Hey, I sure didn’t expect dis kinda mean weather.  We better keep ploughin’ pretty darn fast.  Sure is gettin’ colder.  Campfire sounds pretty good right now.”

              “Yeah, I’m ploughin’.”

There was only a grunt from the stern.  The Wise One kept his counsel.           

Finally, tired and sweating, they landed the canoes and set up camp.  Soon, a fire crackled brightly and the smell of woodsmoke filled the air.  Munching on thick fried-baloney-and-bannock sandwiches, and gulping scalding black coffee,  the men recovered their strength and began to think of hunting.  Warmed now, they filled a thermos with coffee and set out.

Quietly they walked, enraptured by the stillness and beauty of the woods.  The only sounds were the snapping of twigs as they walked and the scolding of a fat bluejay from a nearby tree.  The expanse of snowy ground was undisturbed except by a maze of fox and deer tracks.  Ah, this was what they were born for, and what their ancestors had enjoyed.  This was what they had paddled all that way to do.

 Oblivious to the cold, the trio tramped around for hours.  It was only when they returned to the camp towards evening that they noticed the terrible thing, the really terrible thing:  the ice had closed in all around them.  They could not return home – they were stranded, perhaps to die in this forsaken, lonely place.  Winter had set in early, with malice.

              Tears sprang to Joe’s eyes as he realized that, instead of triumphantly bringing food home to Winona and the kids for the winter, providing as a good

husband should, he might never see them again at all.  String Bean was uncharacteristically quiet, nervously pacing back and forth, around and around.  Oh, why had they come here?  Both men looked at the Wise One, the elder, expectantly, as their last hope.

              The Wise One raised his hand like a traffic guard, as if to say,

“Stop!  I’ll handle this!”  Yet he still did not speak. Moving slowly yet purposefully, his greying ponytail grazing his weathered deerskin jacket, he cleared an area overlooking the canoes.  Taking an arrow, he laid it on the ground, pointing towards home.  Then he knelt on the ground to commune with the Great Spirit.  He remained there a long time.  The others grew restless, yet were afraid to disturb him.  How was this going to help them anyway?

              At last, the Wise One stood up and signalled to the two men to come to him.  After a dramatic pause which heightened the suspense, he spoke:

              “Chi Manitou has told me what to do.  We must pack everything tonight and have it all ready.  At exactly six o’clock tomorrow morning, the ice will open to make a crack just wide enough for the canoes to pass through, just wide enough, mind, and for just long enough for us to get home.  Then it will close up again, so we can’t be late starting.”  The Wise One indicated a canoe’s width with his hands.

              Doubtful, yet respectful, the two younger men complied.  All three men slept only fitfully, and stood at the shore well ahead of time.  No change. Two were wondering: would the promised miracle really happen?

              At exactly six o’clock, the ice began to crack, with a loud creak, like that of a long-rusted gate opening.  As the crack opened to a canoe’s width, the three men placed the canoes in the narrow channel and got into their positions.  The narrow channel kept opening before them all the way home.  Joyfully, gratefully, they clambered onto their home dock and pulled the canoes up.

              Curious, Joe came by an hour later.  The ice had completely closed in again, exactly as Chi Manitou had told the Wise One it would.

              Joe took off his hat and bowed his head.

              “Megwetch, Chi Manitou, Megwetch.” (“Thank You, Great Spirit, thank You.”)

Sing to the Lord a new song…

Declare His glory among the nations,

His marvellous deeds among all peoples. (Psalm 96 1,3 NIV)

Please note:  Much as I would like to let this story speak for itself, I feel I must answer the questions of Christian believers who have come to know that Jesus Christ is the only way to God and Heaven.  (Jesus speaking: I am the way, and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through Me.  (John 14:6))You will be wondering why God responded to prayers offered without faith in his Son.  I, too, wrestled with this issue.  I felt the Lord saying to me,

“I will have mercy on whom I have mercy.” (Romans 9:15, NIV)

That should be answer enough.  I am glad that we serve a God Who understands all the people He has made, and stoops to their understanding of Him.  I am glad He is merciful and much, much greater than any of us knows. In the beautiful passages of Job, 38-41, God describes His majesty:

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?...Who shut up the sea behind doors…?,Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place..?...Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?...Does the eagle soar at your command and build his nest on high?

If we could figure Him out, catalogue Him and file Him neatly under “G” , He wouldn’t be God, would He?