The brave baby
Father gave me this story this morning to teach me something precious about what He is doing with me at the moment. It is based on a story one of the boys brought home from school. I have added to it and I share my additions with you:
The Indian chief was brave and fierce. Many people were afraid of him. That’s how he liked it.
But a wise old woman in the camp said, “I know someone who is not afraid of you.”
The Indian chief was surprised and angry.
“Who is this man?” He cried, “Show him to me!”
The old woman smiled. But she would not tell him.
The next day the Indian chief sought her out, curious and unsettled about the man, fearing someone was rising up against him, challenging his authority.
“Show this man to me, that I may challenge him in battle.”
Again the old woman smiled and shook her head. But she would say nothing.
A third day came and the Indian chief once more approached the woman.
“Who is this man who cares nothing for my honour? Will he not even come to me and prove himself my equal, or my better?” He shouted.
The old woman waited until he had finished. Then she beckoned him to her tent.
“Where is he that is not afraid of me?” cried the Chief, looking inside.
“Go in,” said the old woman, “and you will see.”
The only person inside the tent was a tiny baby girl. She gurgled and cooed as she played with her rattle stick.
“This is my Granddaughter. She is not afraid of you,” said the old woman. “Look how she smiles at you!”
The Chief was not pleased.
“I do not smile at babies or waste my time playing with children, ” he declared importantly. “I am the chief. I am to be feared. I will make the baby come to me.”
So he moved a little towards the child.
“Come here!” he said. “Everyone in this camp needs to learn who is in charge and it is ME! Come here!”
But the baby turned away to look for her rattle stick.
The Chief was incensed.
Again he called the child to him. But the baby remained where she was, twirling her hair and sucking her thumb.
So the Chief began to dance.
He danced a special dance – a dance designed to make people do what he said.
The baby girl watched. But she did not move.
The Chief did another dance – a terrible dance to make babies come to him. But it did not work. The baby did not move. She sat still and smiled at him, dribbling over her rattle.
A third time the Chief tried to dance an imposing, important, Chiefly dance. But the baby laughed at him. Then she lay down, yawned, shut her eyes and fell asleep.
The Chief was exhausted. He sat down and put his head in his hands.
“You are right.” He said to the old woman. “This is a brave baby indeed. Warriors cower at my dances. Whole tribes run from me and yet she has sat still. What magic has made her so brave?”
“My Granddaughter is not brave,” said the old woman. “She is simply protected. She has no idea who you are. She has not been taught to fear because she is wrapped in love. There is no room for anything else in this tent.”