Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,13

have thought possible. He prayed day and night for his children and Genevieve LaCroix, Lord, I believe . . . help Thou my unbelief. He knew he shouldn’t doubt, but it had always been his nature to be a little suspicious of God, to confine Him to the attributes of righteousness and justice, and forget His love and mercy. After all, he reasoned, he had prayed desperately for Ellen, and she died. At the time of the outbreak he was still a little suspicious of God, wondering if negative answers to prayer might be his lot in life. But when Simon prayed for his children, God answered with a resounding YES! Eleven-year-old Aaron and five-year-old Meg returned to him physically whole and remarkably unscathed emotionally.

Leaning back in the church pew, Simon smiled and counted God’s blessings off on his calloused fingers. Neither son nor daughter hurt physically. Neither one damaged emotionally. His prayer life renewed. Self-righteousness nearly conquered. Usefulness enhanced. Simon listed blessing after blessing, good after good, praising and thanking God for it all. But still, even after he spent time thanking God, there was the dread at the center of his being, the awful reluctance to leave St. Anthony.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, putting his head in his hands. I’ve just gotten a family again, Lord. After all the weeks of separation and fear, after all the grieving for Ellen. You have given me a family again. Surely You cannot mean that I should leave them. Not now. He finally whispered aloud, “I know I shouldn’t ask, Father, but I can’t seem to conquer these feelings. Please, God. Give me time to win Genevieve’s heart. Just let me stay a while. After she says she’ll marry me, then I’ll go. Is it too much to ask?”

The phrase feed my sheep rang in his mind.

I have fed Your sheep, Lord. I’ve been doing it ever since we came to St. Anthony.

It was true. Together with the Whitneys, Simon had given relief to many of the white victims of the uprising. He and Aaron had driven literally hundreds of miles to deliver supplies and relief funds from sympathetic eastern churches. It was good work. He did it heartily and was blessed to learn that his son had a remarkable gift of mercy. The boy might be only twelve years old, but he had lived through things that either matured or destroyed children. In Aaron’s case, they matured him. In many ways Aaron Dane was already a young man.

I sent you to the Dakota Mission, Simon. FEED MY SHEEP.

Before the native prisoners were moved, revival had come to the camps at Fort Snelling and Mankato. Men who had never been open to the gospel message were asking to be baptized. Praying. Taking communion. It was a miracle. Workers were needed. They were barely able to keep up with the demand for books, for Bibles, for teachers. Mission teachers Miss Huggins and Miss Stanford had already left to work with the women at Fort Snelling and had been with them when they transferred to steamships to be taken to Dakota Territory just two weeks ago. Miss Jane would be going, too, as soon as Rebecca and Timothy Sutton’s situation was resolved. In many ways it was one of the most exciting times in the mission’s life. How like God, Simon thought, to do His best work when everything was in a shambles from a human perspective. I know that’s often how God works. I shouldn’t wait for things with Gen to be resolved. I just need to trust Him and get on with it.

But when he thought of Camp McClellan, he couldn’t help shuddering with dread. Two hundred Dakota men had been transferred there from Mankato. In Mankato they had been shackled to one another and fenced in like cattle. Treated worse. Falling victim to disease and dying—a few every week. There was no reason to think Camp McClellan would be any different. But they needed him. For the first time in a quarter-century of Dakota mission work, the Indians actually wanted missionaries. And if it were not for his children, for Gen—

If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple. And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple. All things work together for good to those