John.

And the men paddled down the mighty river in their boats. In their minds and in their hearts feeling as small as the sparrow on the branch of the shore. As they continued on slithering through the waters anew they came to a fall where the waters met the ground. One of the captains ahead gave the call to shore the boats and that they would be resting here for the night. They quietly brought the boats up onto the shore and turned them over onto their chests to rest that eve. John was a tracker and farmer back in his home land of New England. But here, even with all of his knowledge and experience, he felt once again like a boy lost in the woods. His heart beat with passion in his chest as his eyes did gaze out upon the creation before him.

As a boy John's father would take him out into the forest on crisp mornings and they would watch the sun beams stream through the tree tops. His father would explain to him the mysteries of the forest and tell him stories of great trackers and hunters that came before them. John listened to these stories with great attention and care. Listening carefully to each word and paying close attention to each detail and trail mentioned. John loved his father, this was not the question. But most of all John knew, even with a young heart, that his father was preparing him for his own personal journeys into the forest.

The men unpacked the boats and began planning the next days travel with their Indian guides. They were nearing the coast that had been foretold to them existed. They all sat around fires resting against the rocks of the shore talking about trails and rivers and mountains high. The guides told tales of great Indian chiefs and their most grand hunting adventures. Of the great kill and the pride and joy that comes from sharing the kill with the gods. But John thought of other things. Greater things than he. As the sun set John looked to the west and sought after it. In his mind he cursed that the moon had chased away the day. But then found himself embracing that same moon as it's brother and sister stars came into view. He thought of God and the great power that carved the mountains and the finger that placed the rivers into being. He stood up slowly and walked quietly to the river bank just as the sun was setting and thought fondly of his Mother.

John's Mother was an ever watchful servant of God. When he was still quite young she would prepare his bed for him as he readied for sleep. When he was ready he would come to bed and his mother would cover him in blankets and even bear pelts in the winter. Then, with blessed candle flickering, she would read to him the Bible. Tales of a savior and of those who loved him. She told of a God whose power was never ending and who, with a word, could move the mountains.

As he remembered these things the sun fell beneath the mountain peaks and waved goodbye to the land below.

John washed his hands and face in the cold water of the river and stood, walking slowly back to his bedroll in his tent near the other men. He crawled inside his tent and lay down to rest with firelight still glowing and illuminating the trees around him. As he fell asleep he remembered his father and mother and their love for him. And then he spoke up towards the sky speaking quietly, saying, "Father. O'Lord, Guide me now and forevermore. Let not my path wonder and make my heart steadfast. You are my light and my Strength. Amen."

And John fell asleep under the stars that held within them the light that created the universe.