I once read a story about two tribes who inhabited a remote island. The ocean tribe were fishermen who stayed close to the beaches, but the mountain tribe lived high above the forest blanketing much of the island. These two people groups had little contact with each other; there was much fear and distrust between them.
One night, on a dare, two young men from the mountain tribe snuck down to the beach and kidnapped an infant from their ocean counterparts. They took the child back through the forest, climbing to their village before dawn.
When the chief of the ocean tribe realized what happened, he sent two of his strongest young men up the mountain to get the child back. The lads tried valiantly but returned at dusk empty handed. They made it through the maze of trees but could not climb the mountain.
The next thing you know, the mother of the infant is missing. The other women of the tribe feared that, overwhelmed by grief, she drowned herself in the sea. However, the next morning she emerged from the forest carrying her little child. The mother accomplished something the strongest and bravest men of her tribe could not–she made it up the mountain.
It was her baby.
Our twenty-something year old son has bipolar disorder. Last year, during Christmas of 2021, he flew to visit his grandmother for a few weeks. We thought he would be fine.
The telephone call came shortly after the new year: “H is manic!” For those who are not familiar, bipolar disorder is characterized by frenzied thoughts and behavior which is often followed by depression. Literally, a person with this mental exceptionality goes from “pole to pole.”
Within a week’s time, our son’s mania crested; he seemed to be doing much better. We cautiously awaited his flight home, knowing he would need to change planes halfway through the 900-mile journey. We prayed the night before, “Lord, please help H get safely home!” Yet the call came the next afternoon–he missed his connecting flight.
A slew of frantic texts and phone calls went out to him. He didn’t respond. Our son, still manic, was somewhere in a major airport of a far away city, and we couldn’t reach him. His stepmother and I filed a report with the airport police and booked a flight for the next morning. We had to find him. But how?
My phone rang at midnight.“This is police officer Morton. I’m here with your son.” I almost shouted into the phone, “Thank God!” We arrived the next day and escorted H home.
Remember how we asked the Lord to bring our son to safety? I didn’t realize it at the time, but He intended for us to be part of the answer. There were moments, during our 72-hour intervention, when we felt far outside our comfort zone. Yet God cleared the way around every obstacle! His strength and His provision allowed us to complete the most important mission of our lives.
And, it was our baby.
Kind reader, perhaps you’re facing a “It’s my baby” situation this very moment. Up a mountain or cross-country, God will make a way!
Go!
Thank you for reading. 🙏 ❤️ prayers and love.
I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities;
Psalm 31:7 (KJV)
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
Psalm 121-1,2 (KJV)
Photo by Zeynep Ece Ondes on Pexels.com
- I tell this story with permission from my son, H.
Davids Daily Dose 
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