The village of Highcrag perched among steep slopes and ancient beds of basalt rock, overlooking the volcanic highlands. A fertile valley, enriched by generations of volcanic ash, provided well for abundant crops and grazing land, attracting game animals.
Highcrag is also home to two brothers, Chakam and Amon. Only months prior, they were in a trading party with Garrick and Lira in Erudition. They were introduced to the new teachings of the Giver that still stirred in their hearts.
Recently, the brothers had buried their father. Often found at the High Place teaching about the Highland gods, he was a respected village elder. He taught with authority derived from many mountain winters. Their father often said, “Abundance and strength come to those who honor the gods with proper sacrifices and trust the cunning of their own hands.”
His two sons were each given an equal portion of his land before his passing. Their father’s words resonated while they made plans with their inheritance. The new teaching also resonated in their hearts. It was spreading through the highlands like volcanic smoke.
Amon was meditating, as he did many mornings, giving thanks to the Creator for all he had. Many of the old teachings had become questionable to him. He thought back to days in Erudition and words from the engraved stone: justice, mercy, and walking humbly remained in his thoughts. “The faithless struggle in vain, choosing to trust in their own ability rather than trust in God,” he thought to himself.
Soon, Amon found the perfect spot near the river to begin construction. The waters flowed at their yearly peak, and the softer ground made for easy pier placement. His modest hut of reeds and clay came together quickly.
In the distance, Chakam worked tirelessly; his vision taking shape beneath his hands. Amon watched his brother’s strenuous labor, then compared his own effort. He dismisses a seed of doubt, remembering Selah’s words while in Erudition – “Unless The Sovereign builds it, it is vain effort.”
The setting sun and dimming valley brought Chakam to a stopping point. He stared up and down at his half-finished construction while stretching out his aching back and admiring the solid foundation with quiet pride. Massive oak piers anchored the corners, large stone basin walls were between them, and a stone walkway led up to the log flooring – all earned by his own sweat and foresight.
Chakam’s eyes moved from his prideful build to his brother’s, in the distance. His head shook and nose sneered at the sight of it.
“Too weak and too close to the water,” Chakam said aloud.
He arched his aching back, turning toward his makeshift shelter. He collapsed into exhaustive sleep, neglecting his normal prayers and meditation.
Amon had his simple shelter, minimal crops, and contentment in the life he was blessed with. His days were devoted to prayer, meditation, and conversing with his neighbors. Strenuous labor felt unnecessary in his contentment. When crops struggled or failed, he rationed and foraged, spending extra time in prayer.
Amon declared to himself, “I won’t be hindered. The Giver promises provision, and I believe he will again.”
Amon was sitting with a few discouraged hunters at the forge.
“We have been out for three straight days and still have nothing,” one spoke wearily.
Amon sat quietly, only listening as they spoke of trials and failures.
“The mountain has not been easy lately,” Amon sympathized, “but it is because we rely on our strength and not the Merciful One. He will provide in His timing.”
Another clansman was listening, growing impatient with Amon’s message, “Look at the ant who diligently prepares for winter. You are a grasshopper, singing and playing while cold months draw near.”
Amon was dismissive, determined in his ways.
Chakam also grew crops, but in abundance, storing what he could, yet he still embraced the new teaching of charity, giving of his surplus to those in need.
Division increased among the clansmen. Some clung to the old ways, unsure of the new teachings. Even those who embraced the One Creator often had sharp arguments concerning faith and works.
In debates with skeptics, Chakam would explain, “The Divine provides seed, yet we tend it.” Chakam paraphrased an old teaching, “From the sweat of his brow, he shall eat.”
A long, heated debate stuck with him that evening as he returned home. The clansman’s words still swirled in his head, “You pride in your own ability, forgetting that it’s the Creator who provides. Look at the mountain goat; he does not put food in the storehouse.”
Chakam returned to his mostly finished structure; the clansman’s words still burning. He noticed a loose stone hanging from the steps, angrily kicking it back in. This caused several more to fall, smashing his foot.
“Even my careful planning has failed me,” Chakam cursed while rolling it off and limping through the pain.
The following day, he strained to get around, limping, yet still trying to be productive. Chakam began doubting his efforts. “I am failed by my own hands.”
That evening, a steady rain began, quickly growing to a heavy downpour. High winds gusted as stragglers fought against it to get in their dwellings.
Chakam stood on his firm stone foundation; the storm raged around him. His roof shook slightly, but the thick stone walls barely noticed as the storm raged. A grim smile grew on Chakam’s face as he stared through the flashes of lightning.
Amon stood wide-eyed as the waters rose to his piers. The intensity of close thunder cracked violently, and gusts of wind shook his modest hut. Prayer escaped his trembling lips as he lowered to his knees with eyes tightly shut.
A moment went by, and Amon said to himself, “The Sustainer is in control. I trust Him no matter what may come.”
Amon returned to his mat, choosing trust over fear.
Chakam kept watch, wondering if the worst was still ahead. He especially looked out through the darkness towards Amon’s simple hut, catching a brief glimpse as lightning lit up the valley.
The gusting wind beat on Amon’s hut, compromising his simple reed roof. Chakam witnessed from a distance, letting out a quiet chuckle, “Faith without foresight.”
The next flash revealed a wall of water surging down the riverbed. Chakam watched as Amon’s hut lifted and splintered, being swept away.
“My brother!” Chakam cried; hands clasped; voice breaking through the storm as he looked on in horror.
His feeling of security and pride in his sound structure quickly diminished, now only feeling a crushing loss.
The first light brought an eerie stillness and the truth of the devastation. Debris was scattered like bones. Flattened trees lay like fallen giants, and across the floodplains nothing remained where Amon’s hut once stood.
Chakam sat on his porch motionless; hopeless; head in hands, witnessing the river’s fresh course and the overall conversion of the landscape.
Chakam replayed the event over and over in anguish.
“I could have convinced him to build better and locate safer. I should have helped him with the construction.” Chakam thought.
He was unscathed, yet his heart sank in crushing grief. “All the planning and hard work do nothing to shield the heart,” he thought.
The eaves still dripped with raindrops while Chakam sat motionless. Distant cries of his clansmen discovering their loss drifted to his ears. Voices of shock and grief sounded as many searched the debris for tools and winter stores.
One voice, distinguished from the others, caught his attention, causing Chakam to turn and look. It was Amon, torn and limping, coming in his direction. Chakam leaped from his porch; re-energized at the sight of his brother. He ran to greet him; bare feet in the cold mud and helped him make way inside the strong dwelling.
“All I have is lost.” Amon wept, voice breaking. “My foolishness has ruined me.”
Chakam, with tears of joy, grabs his brother in embrace, “You have your life, and you have me, brother!”
Amon, taken aback by his brother’s response, considered his position. “But Chakam, you were right to doubt me. I neglected hard work, and now even my little I had has been taken from me. You choose faith in your hands and have lost nothing.”
“The faith in my hands did not protect what mattered most,” Chakam explained. “Your faith has delivered your life, Amon, while my faith faltered thinking you were dead. I had only a fervent prayer, and the Sustainer heard.”
Stay here until you heal. Eat with me and soon we will rebuild together.”
Both were humbled by the storm, each with half the truth; as time passed, they understood the whole. The Giver rewards faith, sometimes refined when the sky falls.