A story told by Old Wolf, a Cheyenne chief from Montana
In the land of the Cheyennes, there is a mountain higher than all the mountains around him. All the Cheyennes know that mountain; even our forefathers knew him. When children, we ran around wherever we wanted. We were never afraid to lose our way so long as we could see the mountain, which would show us home again.
When grown up, we followed the buffalo and the elk; we cared not where we pursued the running deer, so long as the mountain was in site; for we knew he was ever a safe guide, and never failed in his duty. When men, we fought the Sioux, the Crows, the white men. We were after the enemy, though the way ran high up, and low down. Our hearts trembled not on account of the road; for as long as we could see the mountain, we felt sure of finding our home again. When far away, our hearts leaped for joy on seeing him, because he told us that our home came nearer.
During the winter, snow covered all the earth with a mantle of white; we could no longer distinguish him from other mountains except by his height, which told us he was the mountain. Sometimes dark clouds gathered above. They hid his head from our view, and out of them flew fiery darts, boring holes in his sides. The thunder shook him from head to foot; but the storm passed away and the mountain stood forever.
This mountain is the Black-robe. (A Native American expression for a Roman Catholic priest.) His heart is firm as a rock. He changes not. He speaks to us the words of truth. We are always sure of our path, when we look to him for guidance. He is the mountain that leads us to God.
~from Magnificat Magazine