Plymouth Rock was No Accident
Back in the mid-2000s, I often substitute taught at my boys' school. Thanksgiving was an especially fun time to be around the students because I got to tell them a side of Thanksgiving they'd never considered before.
I'll try to shorten the story, but the whole point is: Look for the hand of God everywhere.
Let's start with Squanto, the young Indian boy kidnapped by English Capt. Thomas Hunt (against Capt. John Smith's orders). Hunt sold Squanto at a slave auction in Spain. Somehow, the boy wound up with Spanish monks who taught him European gardening and carpentry skills. File that away.
Eventually, the monks helped Squanto make his way to England. After a few years there serving the owner of a trading company, Squanto was moved to a company outpost in Newfoundland.
Shortly after Squanto was kidnapped, his entire village suffered a catastrophic outbreak of chicken pox. The few Indians who survived abandoned the village and moved in with a neighboring tribe.
All of Squanto's family was wiped out. He, however, had been spared by his timely but involuntary departure.
In the years that Squanto was working his way from Spain to England to Newfoundland, the famous group of Pilgrims had already left England for Amsterdam, attempting to escape persecution. But Holland looked to be going the way of England, as far as religious tolerance. Still seeking their Promised Land, the Pilgrims embarked on the wildly dangerous journey to the New World.
By this time, Squanto had finally managed to find his way back home. Upon arrival, he discovered he was an orphan, in more ways than one. He moved in with the neighboring tribe, but because he'd spent so much time with Europeans, he didn't fit with the Indians anymore. He was a round peg in a square hole.
Not long after Squanto settled in with his adopted tribe, the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts and discovered an area cleared of dwellings and trees. They were astonished at the blessing. Prime real estate ready for a settlement.
It was Squanto's old home.
The Pilgrims had barely set up camp in the old village when an Indian emerged from the forest who spoke a little English. Crazy, right? But he knew an Indian who spoke even better English.
He returned with Squanto.
And, we all know, Squanto pretty much saved the Pilgrims. He taught them both Native and European farming, helped them build their homes, taught them to hunt, and facilitated negotiations with the local tribes. He was nothing less than a Godsend.
Now, whenever I think of Thanksgiving, yes, I'm grateful for my blessings, but I'm also grateful that God is in the details. Nothing derails his plans if we stay close to him. He works all things for good.
Happy Thanksgiving!
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