In the land of Sorie Ayah was a village with no name.
They were a very simple folk who did not aspire to fame.
Men like Farmers, Bakers, Bankers, Barbers and the like,
With names like Joe and Josh and Sarah. Perhaps, even a Mike.
On the outskirts of this town there lived a farmer, name of Smith.
He had so many children that he had to hire Tiff.
Tiff was a young lady who would help Smith and his wife,
With chores like looking after children who were prone to flight.
One day, as the farmer Smith had gone off into town,
He stopped in at the feed store just to take a look around.
No one else was in the store, but a little ragged boy.
But he seemed like he’d cause no fuss, all taken with a toy.
“Hello there!” came a greeting from the clerk. His name was Bob.
“A perfect day for getting out.” The farmer gave a nod.
“So, what’s your pleasure this fine day? Come in to get some feed?
I have some worms for fishin’ and whatever else you need.”
“No thanks,” the farmer said, politely, wondering ‘bout the boy.
“I haven’t any needs, myself, but how much is that toy?”
With this, the boy looked up and then he gave a curious smile.
“Oh, that boy don’t belong here,” said Bob, charging down the aisle.
Stopping Bob right in his tracks, Smith said, “I don’t mind him.
Just tell me, how’d he get here?” asked the farmer with a grin.
“His mother left him on the step, about two hours ago.
I didn’t bother kicking him out, ‘cause business has been slow.
She said she didn’t care just what I did with him, today.
She said she won’t be coming back. He’s gotten in her way.”
“How terrible,” the farmer said. “He hasn’t got a home?”
“As far as I know,” now, Bob replied, “He’s left here all alone.”
So then they stood and talked about what should be done with him.
They spoke so softly that the boy could hardly listen in.
“Dear farmer, don’t you think you’ve taken enough upon yourself?
You have two dozen kids already. Leave him for someone else.”
“No one can raise him good as me. Of this you can attest.
So, if I raise him as my own, you know that will be best.”
Finally, the farmer said, “Son, grab your stuff. Let’s go.”
The little boy then dropped his toy and hopped up on his toes.
Walking to the door, the boy was haulted by old Smith.
“Come get this toy. I paid for it. Consider it a gift.”
The boy got in the pick-up truck, and so the farmer did.
Turning to the little tike, he asked, “What’s your name, kid?”
“Mike,” replied the little boy, still fumbling with the belt.
“Is it okay if I call you Michael. Do you think that would be swell?”
Michael shrugged his shoulders as he kicked his little feet.
The truck was nicer than his mom’s, and it certainly was clean.
The farmer drove a little ways and came upon a house.
He turned to Michael, said, “We’re here,” and then they both got out.
This was Sheriff Johnson’s house, and he was just ‘round back.
They heard him clanging tools around and saying this and that.
Following the noises, they found he was fast at work.
He was under his patrol car and all covered up with dirt.
“Need some help, there, Sheriff,” called the farmer from the hood.
Rolling out from under the car, the Sheriff slowly stood.
“Smith! What brings you ‘round these parts? It has been quite a while.”
“I was just down at the feed store, and I came upon this child.”
The sheriff took his glasses from the pocket on his shirt.
He wiped them with an old white cloth to remove all the dirt.
Pushing them snug to his nose, he gave the boy a look.
“Why, I’ve never seen this boy before, but I’ll look through my books.”
“Well, Sheriff Johnson, I’m impressed to keep him at my house.
And Tiff can look upon him till you figure all this out.
You know there’s always room at my house for these little ones.
And if you cannot find the mother, I’ll make him my own son.”
“Dear farmer, don’t you think you’ve taken enough upon yourself?
You have two dozen kids already. Leave him for someone else.”
“No one can raise him good as me. Of this you can attest.
So, if I raise him as my own, you know that will be best.”
Once again they hopped up in the farmer’s pick-up truck.
They drove out to his farm and gathered everybody up.
“Dear wife, and Tiff, and kids, this here is Michael. Please say, ‘Hi.’”
The group all greeted Michael, who so quickly became shy.
The farmer had two dozen kids, from babes to older teens.
They stood ‘round looking cheerful. Michael thought he might turn green.
They came and introduced themselves, one by one by one.
From oldest to the youngest. Twelve were daughters. Twelve were sons.
Last were Mrs. Smith and Tiff, both carrying young babes.
They welcomed him with kisses, and his worries did then fade.
In no time he felt right at home and fell in with the kids.
They played their games, told stories and spent time with Mrs. Smith.
While talking with the others, he found out they were just like him.
They all had been abandoned and the Smiths took them all in.
They all had special stories, though their stories were alike.
And though there were so many, the farmer gave each one his time.
The farm whipped up in conversations. Michael was all the buzz.
The farmer had another son, and the story’s moral was…
Though we had been forsaken from the fall of Adam and Eve,
We have a loving Father who steps down and intercedes.
He takes us off the streets of life where we would die alone.
He makes us all His children and prepares for us a home.
CredoCovenant 