Posted on Bethany's facebook Sunday, February 28, 2010 at 7:34pm
Time can be more valuable than money...
I walked into the rest-home on Fort Apache and our assignment was to spend an hour chatting with one of the residents and learning about their culture. I looked around the room and there she was... purple sweatshirt, a long gray braid over her shoulder, big bright eyes and, just like a kid, she had a little glittery heart sticker below her right eye. Her name was Cora. She was one hundred and three years old and full of life. I knew she was my girl.I approached her, introduced myself and "would it be alright if I talked with you for a while?" She had a big grin and her eyes lit up as I sat down. Over the next hour she told me about her life. I sat and watched her talk, the sound of her voice trickling in and out of my ears as I marveled at the majesty of the woman before me. She had the spirit of an old, wild horse and the gentle, joyful heart of a sparrow. Her life had been wrought with tragedy as an Apache in America. She had lost children, family and friends. She had seen horrors that would send most of us to the halfway house. But she was still smiling... still innocent. She talked about Jesus and how grateful she was to be his friend (unusual to find on a reservation, I'm told), she talked about her love for her people and culture and she thanked me from the bottom of her heart for being there and helping to restore this community.She had already given me more than I could give back.This was a trip I took a few years ago to Fort Apache in Arizona. I went with a church group for a week to help rebuild this deteriorating community and were I not so absent-minded, I wouldn't have left my journal on the airplane from the return trip and I'd have a much more detailed account for you all, but as it is in my memory, I will share a few key points that I hope will inspire you.While we were there, the group stayed in bunk beds in cabins separated by sex, we ate local food prepared by the organization and were assigned work activities daily. Up by 6am every morning, we had breakfast and got into the vans that took us out onto the reservation. We were given all the tools needed to restore a home and each group was assigned a home to repair. We worked in the heat from 8-12 and after lunch from 1-6, scraping old paint off the exterior, replacing parts and patching up holes in the roof, replacing doors, knobs and locks, planting greens in the yard area, repainting, etc, etc, etc... And I'll tell you, it was one of the best times of my life. The group I was with were all friends already, but working together as a team really forced us to step outside of ourselves and our comfortable world and find a way to make a home for these amazing people.The Reservation itself was falling apart. Alcoholism was rampant (and still is), teen pregnancy among Native Americans was at the third highest in the country (and still is, I believe), and the most common sight during that trip was little children, as young as 3, wandering around the dirt roads alone. To see this kind of poverty in America's own backyard was devastating and motivating. But the people-- when you looked in their eyes, troubled though they may have been, most that we encountered truly loved each other the best way they knew how. They were something that we have forgotten how to be in our instant gratification, the-world-revolves-around-me, every man for himself culture-- They were a tribe. One night we had the honor being the guests of a Shaman who shared an Apachean ceremony with us and taught us about their ancestors' connection to the earth and stars. I wish I remembered more details, but I have a terrible long-term memory. Another day we were treated to a hike through Geronimo's Cave. The lot of us hiking and crawling (at one point, on our bellies, end to end like sausages shuffling for 100 ft. through what was the circumference of the underside of a piano bench, careful not to shuffle the dust too much as there was limited oxygen and we might suffocate), maneuvering our way above and around stalactites and stalagmites until we reached the cool, dark opening of the cave. Water dripped eerily down the edges of the rock and landed in puddles too far below to see. Flashlights were our only source of light and "on the count of three, everyone turn off their light" was the idea of our group leader. There, in the darkness, someone began to sing. I'm not sure who it was, but soon more voices joined in, echoing off the grotto and bouncing back into the cavities of our bodies so it felt like you were made of music.On the way back a girlfriend of mine began to panic during the long claustrophobic crawl through the tunnel so, both being Shakespearean nerds, we began to recite Benedict and Beatrice's first argument from Much Ado About Nothing... "My dear lady Distain! Are you yet living?..."Back on the ground and waiting for the rest of the group to get back, I wandered across the street to an open field. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement and then heard noises. In my curiosity (and stupidity), I pushed through a brush and found myself staring at a field full of wild horses. I knew enough to stay back and not make any noise, beautiful though they are, wild horses are not to be trifled with. I stood and watched, paralyzed. How could nature be so beautiful? How could God keep secrets like these to himself? Unbridled beasts. It was like seeing the ocean for the first time-- you are suddenly aware of how small you are. Only I guess God wasn't keeping all His secrets... He was sharing one with me.I breathed in and out, suddenly feeling loud and intrusive. But the beasts didn't notice. they just flicked their tails, ate the grass, one chasing another in circles, one bending it's noble limbs until it was resting on the cool ground, a stoic one staring out into the field as it's mane rose and fell with the subtle breeze. It was too much beauty to know what to do with. I was a wet sponge with no more dry crevices to fill and when the noise from our group began to get louder and I could hear all the voices full of excited incredulity growing, I knew it was time to go. The plane ride back was quiet. We had all been touched deeply by this experience and we wanted to relish in it for as long as possible. We landed back at JFK and back into the loud assaulting America we had left a short week ago. I love this country, I love my friends and family, I love the bratty little tweens at the mall who have no concept of the world outside of them, I love the rich, detached middle-aged Harvard grads who neglect their children and send their money to charities at the end of the year for tax breaks, I love the low-income families who pray over their meals with family and raise children of character and want for nothing because they are rich in spirit, I love the hollywood socialites and the crooked politicians, I love the soup kitchen servers and the high-school janitors and the wealthy families who haven't lost sight of what's important, the career-woman and the wall-street kid on the subway, the midwestern cop just trying to do the right thing... the list goes on and on and on...I love the world we live in now, because I love the people in it. And I see how much we need each other. So, I encourage you to take a moment outside of the life you know and look for an opportunity to connect with a different type of person, a different type of lifestyle. We need each other. Please, reach out.
Thanks for listening,
Joy
As we hear about various disasters that hit around the world (most recently Haiti & Chile) and you are interested in spending some time this summer learning or helping a different culture, here are some great places to start... (even a few hours helping locally can make a big difference)http://www.charityguide.org/volunteer/vacation/native-american-indian.htm
http://www.peacecorps.gov/http://www.habitat.org/getinv/volunteer_programs.aspx?r=r
http://www.compassion.com/http://www.volunteermatch.org/
Time can be more valuable than money...
I walked into the rest-home on Fort Apache and our assignment was to spend an hour chatting with one of the residents and learning about their culture. I looked around the room and there she was... purple sweatshirt, a long gray braid over her shoulder, big bright eyes and, just like a kid, she had a little glittery heart sticker below her right eye. Her name was Cora. She was one hundred and three years old and full of life. I knew she was my girl.I approached her, introduced myself and "would it be alright if I talked with you for a while?" She had a big grin and her eyes lit up as I sat down. Over the next hour she told me about her life. I sat and watched her talk, the sound of her voice trickling in and out of my ears as I marveled at the majesty of the woman before me. She had the spirit of an old, wild horse and the gentle, joyful heart of a sparrow. Her life had been wrought with tragedy as an Apache in America. She had lost children, family and friends. She had seen horrors that would send most of us to the halfway house. But she was still smiling... still innocent. She talked about Jesus and how grateful she was to be his friend (unusual to find on a reservation, I'm told), she talked about her love for her people and culture and she thanked me from the bottom of her heart for being there and helping to restore this community.She had already given me more than I could give back.This was a trip I took a few years ago to Fort Apache in Arizona. I went with a church group for a week to help rebuild this deteriorating community and were I not so absent-minded, I wouldn't have left my journal on the airplane from the return trip and I'd have a much more detailed account for you all, but as it is in my memory, I will share a few key points that I hope will inspire you.While we were there, the group stayed in bunk beds in cabins separated by sex, we ate local food prepared by the organization and were assigned work activities daily. Up by 6am every morning, we had breakfast and got into the vans that took us out onto the reservation. We were given all the tools needed to restore a home and each group was assigned a home to repair. We worked in the heat from 8-12 and after lunch from 1-6, scraping old paint off the exterior, replacing parts and patching up holes in the roof, replacing doors, knobs and locks, planting greens in the yard area, repainting, etc, etc, etc... And I'll tell you, it was one of the best times of my life. The group I was with were all friends already, but working together as a team really forced us to step outside of ourselves and our comfortable world and find a way to make a home for these amazing people.The Reservation itself was falling apart. Alcoholism was rampant (and still is), teen pregnancy among Native Americans was at the third highest in the country (and still is, I believe), and the most common sight during that trip was little children, as young as 3, wandering around the dirt roads alone. To see this kind of poverty in America's own backyard was devastating and motivating. But the people-- when you looked in their eyes, troubled though they may have been, most that we encountered truly loved each other the best way they knew how. They were something that we have forgotten how to be in our instant gratification, the-world-revolves-around-me, every man for himself culture-- They were a tribe. One night we had the honor being the guests of a Shaman who shared an Apachean ceremony with us and taught us about their ancestors' connection to the earth and stars. I wish I remembered more details, but I have a terrible long-term memory. Another day we were treated to a hike through Geronimo's Cave. The lot of us hiking and crawling (at one point, on our bellies, end to end like sausages shuffling for 100 ft. through what was the circumference of the underside of a piano bench, careful not to shuffle the dust too much as there was limited oxygen and we might suffocate), maneuvering our way above and around stalactites and stalagmites until we reached the cool, dark opening of the cave. Water dripped eerily down the edges of the rock and landed in puddles too far below to see. Flashlights were our only source of light and "on the count of three, everyone turn off their light" was the idea of our group leader. There, in the darkness, someone began to sing. I'm not sure who it was, but soon more voices joined in, echoing off the grotto and bouncing back into the cavities of our bodies so it felt like you were made of music.On the way back a girlfriend of mine began to panic during the long claustrophobic crawl through the tunnel so, both being Shakespearean nerds, we began to recite Benedict and Beatrice's first argument from Much Ado About Nothing... "My dear lady Distain! Are you yet living?..."Back on the ground and waiting for the rest of the group to get back, I wandered across the street to an open field. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement and then heard noises. In my curiosity (and stupidity), I pushed through a brush and found myself staring at a field full of wild horses. I knew enough to stay back and not make any noise, beautiful though they are, wild horses are not to be trifled with. I stood and watched, paralyzed. How could nature be so beautiful? How could God keep secrets like these to himself? Unbridled beasts. It was like seeing the ocean for the first time-- you are suddenly aware of how small you are. Only I guess God wasn't keeping all His secrets... He was sharing one with me.I breathed in and out, suddenly feeling loud and intrusive. But the beasts didn't notice. they just flicked their tails, ate the grass, one chasing another in circles, one bending it's noble limbs until it was resting on the cool ground, a stoic one staring out into the field as it's mane rose and fell with the subtle breeze. It was too much beauty to know what to do with. I was a wet sponge with no more dry crevices to fill and when the noise from our group began to get louder and I could hear all the voices full of excited incredulity growing, I knew it was time to go. The plane ride back was quiet. We had all been touched deeply by this experience and we wanted to relish in it for as long as possible. We landed back at JFK and back into the loud assaulting America we had left a short week ago. I love this country, I love my friends and family, I love the bratty little tweens at the mall who have no concept of the world outside of them, I love the rich, detached middle-aged Harvard grads who neglect their children and send their money to charities at the end of the year for tax breaks, I love the low-income families who pray over their meals with family and raise children of character and want for nothing because they are rich in spirit, I love the hollywood socialites and the crooked politicians, I love the soup kitchen servers and the high-school janitors and the wealthy families who haven't lost sight of what's important, the career-woman and the wall-street kid on the subway, the midwestern cop just trying to do the right thing... the list goes on and on and on...I love the world we live in now, because I love the people in it. And I see how much we need each other. So, I encourage you to take a moment outside of the life you know and look for an opportunity to connect with a different type of person, a different type of lifestyle. We need each other. Please, reach out.
Thanks for listening,
Joy
As we hear about various disasters that hit around the world (most recently Haiti & Chile) and you are interested in spending some time this summer learning or helping a different culture, here are some great places to start... (even a few hours helping locally can make a big difference)http://www.charityguide.org/volunteer/vacation/native-american-indian.htm
http://www.peacecorps.gov/http://www.habitat.org/getinv/volunteer_programs.aspx?r=r
http://www.compassion.com/http://www.volunteermatch.org/
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