Pitamemee’s Gift
Once upon a time, in a small mountain village, lived a simple people. They did not worry themselves with the concerns of the rest of the world. Content to keep to their mountain ways, they planted crops, and raised their animals, on the sides of the steep peak.
Pitamemee, had learned the Shepard trade from his father, and was now old enough to take his turn watching the village’s goats. He loved his assigned task, it was far more exciting to care for the herd, on the side of the mountain, than doing chores behind the village walls. Pitamemee, had a favorite perch, on the top of a large outcropping, of rugged stone. From here, he could watch the goats meander through the boulder strewn meadow, nibbling on the tender shoots, that spring up, from around the many stones. He could also see far away into the valley below.
In the valley was another village. The elders had warned the villagers, many times, not to trust the valley people, and he could not help feeling a little fear as he studied the far away houses and fields. What had happened between his village, and the valley people long ago, he did not know, but the village elders were firm in their warnings, and laws, “Do not go into the valley.”
The air was crisp, and soon the snows would come, so Pitamemee moved down off the rock to escape the increasing wind. As he moved down among the goats, they became restless. The goats could smell some hidden danger, perhaps a mountain cat, or even wolves. Nervously the herd clustered together, sniffing the air, milling in circles, and bolting this way and that. Then they broke, running down the mountainside, leaping over stones, and bushes. Pitamemee had not caught sight of the cause for their panic, but he kept glancing back, as he ran behind the herd trying to catch up. Down and down they ran until the herd reached the cliffs. The cliffs were a natural barrier between the mountains and the valley, and Pitamemee feared that the goats would now have no place left to run.
The herd was far ahead now, running along the top edge of the cliffs. Pitamemee desperately struggled to run fast enough to get in front of the herd. He was too late, the goats began to disappear off the edge. When Pitamemee reached the spot where the goats had gone off the edge, he saw a narrow split between the cliffs that formed a steep funnel filled with jagged rock and broken scree. The last few goats were making their way out of the bottom of the narrow passage, as he looked down.
Never before had he gone past the cliffs, because it was forbidden by the village elders. He had no choice, if he went back to the village for help, the herd could be lost forever. He quickly began to make his way among the sharp rock, and loose footing, but he misjudged his step and slipped, at first he was just sliding on top of the scree, but then he bounced up, and landed hard against the sheer stone wall. A dizzying sharp pain came over him, then the world went blank.
The throbbing pain filled his head, as he struggled to open his eyes. It was dark, but with a faint warm glow off to one side. Pitamemee slowly turned his head towards the light, it was coming from a small fire and glowing coals in a corner fireplace. As his senses returned to him, he realized that he lay in a small room with mud plastered walls. This was not his village, he knew the inside of every home, and this one was unfamiliar. As he lay there, searching for an explanation, a man entered the room to stoke the fire. Fearfully, Pitamemee caught his breath, he didn’t know this man. “Who was he, and where am I?”, he thought.
After putting another chunk of wood on the fire the man turned towards where Pitamemee lay. As he approached, he spoke in a calm voice, ”I see you’re finally awake. You took a nasty fall.” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, “My name is Fladmorre. My sons and I found you and your goats on the mountainside, and have brought you here to our farm. Just relax, as soon as you are well, we will help you, and your herd, get back home”.
Pitamemee felt reassured by the kind and pleasant demeanor of Fladmorre, and lay his aching head back on the soft pillow. For the next two days Pitamemee was quickly feeling better, and was soon well enough to make the trip back. He had pieced the time together, and realized that his replacement to watch the herd, would still be a few days from coming to relieve him in the pastures. He would arrive back to his village, before anyone knew he was missing.
It would be a two-day journey back up the mountain, and Fladmorre and his sons were going to make the trek with him. Fladmorre had three donkeys, loaded for the trip. These are far more supplies than are needed for such a short distance, thought Pitamemee.
His fear and suspicion of the valley people was softening from Fladmorre’s kind treatment, so he asked his host, “Why are our people enemies?” “Many generations ago there was a bitter rivalry, and our villages had a terrible battle. Since then, we have always lived apart, neither one willing to reconcile”, answered Fladmorre. “I have loaded gifts for your village, perhaps your misfortune will help bring our people together again.”
A few days later Pitamemee’s village was in sight. As they approached, the entire village came out, led by the elders. Pitamemee could see the mix of emotions on his people’s faces, some showed fear, while others were curious, and a few had joy and hope in their eyes.
The elders met them first, and resolutely declared, “Valley people are forbidden from our mountain, leave now”. Pitamemee recounted the events that had brought them here, his gratitude for being rescued, and of the gifts they brought. When the people heard his account, many were joyful, and expressed a desire to renew their ties with the people of the valley. This clearly angered some of the elders, and one shouted above the crowd, “Our distrust is justifiable. We have no need for these people, or their gifts”.
“Please, can we not accept these gifts, and goodwill from Fladmorre? Can we not join our people together again?”, pleaded Pitamemee. “Since you are so eager to deliver these gifts, Pitamemee, the village can have them. But, only if you will carry them the rest of the way up the mountain”, declared one of the elders, with a smirk.” If you fail, you will be banished, and you can go with those whom you advocate for”, he continued. “I will do it”, proclaimed Pitamemee. “Are you sure?, asked Fladmorre, ”It will be more than a strong man can carry”. “Yes, I am sure”, replied Pitamemee, a flash of courage shown on his face.
The gifts were laid out upon the ground, then two large sacks were handed to Pitamemee. “Come forward and claim your gift”, shouted an elder. A few came forward, picked a gift, and then put them in the sacks. “What are you waiting for?”, cried another elder, sarcastically. “Do you not want these wondrous offerings?” Then a few more selected a package.
One of the strongest men of the village approached, and asked, “Can I carry my gift, myself?” “No, it can only be carried by Pitamemee”, and the elder took the gift from him and shoved it into one of the sacks.
The load was clearly becoming heavy, but Pitamemee showed no remorse in his choice. Some of the villagers were now angry, “We don’t want these gifts”, they proclaimed. Yet, others,with tears in their eyes, begged for this to stop, fearful that Pitamemee would be lost from them forever.
The elders, seeing their opportunity to keep the valley people seperated from their village, commanded, “You will all take a gift,” and began selecting the heaviest packages for those who would not choose for themselves. Finally the bags were loaded with a gift for every villager.
Pitamemee began the long slow assent towards the village gates. Few eyes were not filled with tears at this point. Some felt guilt, some joy, and some expressed anger. Pitamemee, stumbled and fell on one knee. A wicked smile came to the face of an elder. His smile became a look of anger as Pitamemee struggled to his feet, still clinging to the bags. His hands were white from gripping the sacks so hard, and his muscles quivered under the immense load. Each step was taking longer and longer to make. Tears and sweat dripped down Pitamemee’s face, and blood ran down from the wound on his knee.
As he came within feet of the village entrance, the elders became even more angry. Fearing the loss of power and control, if Pitamemee could make the rest of the distance. Their hateful and threatening language cut deeply into Pitamemee’s heart, he began to feel the overwhelming nature of this task. Even those who were hopeful for Pitamemee, started to doubt, and despair. It took, what felt like an eternity, for the last few agonizing steps into the village courtyard. Pitamemee, looked skyward, and collapsed under the load, his quest complete.
So it is with Christ. He gave the gift of the Atonement, without regard of it’s acceptance. He carried all of mankind’s burden, and spent His last mortal strength, as our advocate to our Father in Heaven, so that we could rejoin Him.
In this Christmas Season, we can honor His gift, by giving, and sharing of ourselves, with others.
Merry Christmas,
Shane McKenna
