The Legend of the Cows - The kids of the Tsartlip First Nations Community

This past summer, several of the fire bowl contributors (along with some other friends) were helping at a community camp for Tsartlip Village, a First Nations community near Victoria, BC in Canada.  During our camp out night, we all wrote this story together.

Many moons ago, there was a cow named Bob and he was really fat and he took over the world.  He had two baby cows.  Their names were Cheese and Hot Dog.  They liked bananas.

Cheese and Hot Dog were sad because they didn't have a mother so they ran away to New York city.  They hated yogurt but they loved to play in the park.  Their little family went in search of a new mother.

One day, while eating grass on the field, they found out that their mother had been assassinated by the mysterious Ben Lomond.  They plotted revenge on Ben Lomond by becoming the best jazz trio ever seen.  As they were performing, Lomond came to the jazz club.  It was then they realized that their mother had been free running with Ben in the woods all along.

They were so shocked that they went and found a shy cow named Flower.  Flower was a blonde cow with three legs and a beard.  Eventually, the entire family was reunited.

Suddenly, they saw an entire mass of Japanese people running toward them and Godzilla came and crushed the entire cow family.  And then shoelaces began falling from the sky.

The cows were on a happy journey to McDonald's to help feed people.  Ronald McDonald came to life and took the cows on a magical journey to Disneyland.  There, they saw a statue of a cow.  A chief from a local tribe, who was hunting in the area, heard the noise and when he got there, he realized it was his cow!

On nights when you can see the moon, you can see four cows jumping over the moon.  One has three legs and blonde hair.

The End.

The Village - James Harrison

James is a missionary with Youth With A Mission (YWAM) in Canada.  He is currently headed west through the Rockies on a Greyhound bus to help lead a YWAM program in Vancouver.  He shares stories, insights and songs on his blog HERE.  Oh, and he's a twin.  And he likes Llamas.

They say it takes a village to raise a child.

Despite my size I was once a child, and I was raised.  Everyone is raised, really, whether it's for good or for bad.   I was fortunate enough to be raised in a good way, by good people, by a good village.

This village always made me feel like I was a friend, like I was special, and most importantly, that I was part of the village myself.

The village gathered together once a week, and some of us even gathered again on another day of the week.   Both events would be down to earth, like a big family.   There'd usually be some food to enjoy together, some sing-a-long time, and the village leader would give us some advice and read from The Village History and Guidelines.   Our meetings would start late and end late, and since it would take a driving hunger to pull people away from each other we would just go eat lunch together.

Many villagers were smokers, but since my parents were smokers that never bothered me.  It just reminded me they were all normal people.

The real test of their genuineness was when I was going through hard times.  Especially as a teenager I needed people to tell me I was not abnormal.  They told me the real thing I wanted to hear--I was special, precious, and fun to be around.  People were happy when I was there.   Especially as a teenager I needed people to lead me through the paths of growing up.   I needed men to lead me through the paths of growing into a man.

I didn't need someone to take my hand and lead me through every decision (though I wouldn't have minded that at the time); I simply needed to see men acting like men, in normal situations.   What is it like to be a man in this village?   What do you do?   What do you say?    When do you argue?   When do you leave things be?   Is it okay to yell at my mom?   Is it okay to laugh at people when they're not there?   Is it cool to cheat, to steal, to lie as long as no one finds out?   What am I supposed to do with myself, with my emotions, with the frustration I was depositing in the bank everyday, not knowing that one day it will inevitably bust itself out?   Can I hit people, or do I just keep the hate inside?   WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS FLESH AND TISSUE THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M FROM OUTER-SPACE??

Extreme, perhaps, but these are things you learn; either the right answer or the wrong one, by habit it will become the norm.

In my village men were active, not lazy.   They were gentle and kind, not lordly and fake macho-men.   They listened, offered input, and most importantly they acted as men in front of me; and I noticed everything.

Just so we're clear the village is the church I grew up in...  my church: New Hope Christian Fellowship.   The men were mostly Chris, Aaron, Jimmy, James, Mark, and Ken.

The village raised me with the love and kindness that I didn't always find at home.   But then, that's kind of the point of the village, right?    They acted as a community in godly ways and set examples for me.   They shared what they had with me--their lives and their true selves.   I'm eternally grateful.