Just a week away from Thanksgiving, my mind goes back over 400 years in time to remember those who started it all. This little band of believers suffered under the pressure of the State Church of England, who bullied them, forced them to pay church tax, and sometimes imprisoned them for no good reason. All they wanted was to be free to preach Christ and worship Him. They first fled to Holland, but that did not work out well. So they took courage in hand and made plans to set sail for America, hoping to carry the light of Christ to this unknown continent.
Their first ship, ironically named the Speedwell, soon developed leaks and forced them to turn back, at which time they procured the Mayflower. Stuffed below decks, all 102 of them, they lived on dried pork, peas, and fish for the seven week voyage. Storms tossed the little ship to and fro, adding seasickness to the general misery. Just try to imagine that. As if that were not enough, the sailors made fun of them, considering them to be religious freaks.
When they finally heard the cry, “Land Ho!” they disembarked and knelt on the cold ground of Cape Cod to thank God for His protection. There was no McDonald’s, no Marriott, not even a 7-11. Just the huge heaving Atlantic behind them and 3000 miles of unknown wilderness before them. How would we have felt? Would we have given thanks? But they dug in. They built a log house and moved in for the winter. Before March came, 47 of them would succumb to scurvy and pneumonia. But spring finally came, and with spring, came Squanto, who would become a hero and brother to them.