Montana Moments

Intensely Unconditional

2009-05-18T15:30:00.000-07:00

After snowy weather foiled our field trip plans and closed school early last week, we finally headed out this morning on the hour-and-a-half journey to Havre for a field trip to the park, Pizza Hut, and the local fire station. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with my students outside of the school setting. Although still in charge of the livelihood of each of the children, I felt a sense of freedom, as if their bubbling excitement effervesced into my own sphere of energy. From chasing them through tire toys to zooming airplane-style through the grass, and from stuffing ourselves with pizza to ogling in awe as we climbed through a fire truck, my heart rejoiced in the pure and simple joy we call childhood.

In these moments, I realize the intensity of love in my heart for each of these students, as I have learned about their hearts, their souls, and their lives--some beautiful and some broken. It is hard to believe that I only have three more school days with them. Much of my heart is ready to move on, but when I look into the fabulous and faithful faces of each child, I don't feel ready to leave them behind, knowing what difficult challenges they will face in the future. I was only here nine months and I did not come here with the expectation to fix any large scale social ills; I know that I will have little impact on their lives. Yet hopefully I helped to ignite a flame within each of them, as I know that I will never forget the unconditional way in which they reminded me of how to live and love with intensity.

Here's a fun photo of my class:

April Adventures

2009-04-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

There is a peace of mind that has come over myself these past few weeks, and I think a lot of it has come from my new teaching situation—having the opportunity to pour into seven wonderful six-year-olds. I’ve had a sense of stability working in the same classroom with the same students day-by-day. I’ve enjoyed planning activities and projects for the kids, making the monotony of learning fun and engaging for them. There are days with extra challenges or when I don’t come to the classroom with a joyful spirit, but when I step back, I realize that having my heart in the right place is important for these students so that I can show them the infinite love of the Creator. And when I’m in those frazzled moments, the students no just what to say to soften my heart: “I love you Miss Johnson!” We’ve taken to having a group hung at the end of each day, a reminder that there is something incredibly special in each of our hearts that we had the opportunity to share today. Overall, the seven of us have begun to bond as I become more of a mentor and friend to them in the safety of the classroom, as well as a teacher. I can definitely say that my (very brief) experience as a classroom teacher been a wonderful and engaging experience.

While weekdays have been enjoyable, weekends have also been full of energy as well. Over the Easter weekend, our house was filled with 15 people, as the Jesuit Volunteer communities from Ashland and Billings (Montana) came to visit. We enjoyed a festive Easter brunch, wonderful hikes, and brilliant views of an evening thunderstorm. Coming through the snow a few days later, my mother arrived for a brief visit. It was wonderful to have one-on-one time with her and to show her my life in Hays. On the weekend, we went to the Professional Bull Riding championship series. The actual riding was not much of anything, but the introduction was hysterical: cowboys in full duds jogging through a ring of smoke and fire, an overture for the million-dollar bulls ridden in the event, and a heart-wrenching rendition of the star spangled banner. It was quite a spectacle and a real introduction into the Montana lifestyle.

This past weekend we took a quick trip to Great Falls for an annual fun run. We had loads of fun eating enormous amounts of free food provided by Fort Belknap’s diabetes prevention program, talking about anything and everything, jogging just a little, and learning from Hays community members, particularly our “chauffer” Rhonda--a riot of a woman—about their lives and values. Of course, just as the year is beginning to come to a close do I really begin to feel rooted, comfortable enough to learn, laugh, and live locally here in Hays. But I am glad that in a little while I will leave with a sense of joy in my heart about the experiences I have had in my moment here in Montana.

Below is a blessing for you. A reminder to breathe deeply the richness of our riot of a world, and to love life into being.

Hear, O Humankind, the prayer of my heart

For are we not one, have we not one desire,
to heal our Mother Earth and bind her wounds
to hear again from dark forests and flashing rivers
the varied ever-changing Song of Creation?

O humankind, are we not all brothers and sisters,
are we not the grandchildren of the Great Mystery?
Do we not all want to live and be loved, to work
and to play, to sing and dance together?

But we live with fear. Fear that is hate, fear
that is mistrust, envy, greed, vanity fear that is
ambition, competition, aggression, fear that is
loneliness, anger, bitterness, cruelty… and yet,
fear is only twisted love, love turned back on itself,
love that was denied, love that was rejected…
and love…
Love is life—creation, seed and leaf
and blossom and fruit and seed, love is growth
and search and reach and touch and dance.
Love is nurture and succor and feed and pleasure…
love is life believing in itself.
And life…
Life is the Sacred Mystery singing to itself, dancing
to its drum, telling tales, improvising, playing
and we are all that Spirit, our stories all
but one cosmic story that we are love indeed,
that perfect love in me seeks the love in you,
and if our eyes could ever meet without fear
we would recognize each other and rejoice,
for love is life believing in itself.

-Manitongquat

Making the Move

2009-04-05T09:09:00.000-07:00

I will look back upon this year as one of constant challenge and growth as I learn to adapt to new situations along every step of the way: on Tuesday morning, another boiler burst in school, and this time the damage was enough that we had to move. A few books and supplies had a little smoke and water damage from the firefighters, but overall we were able to transfer the whole school to a small abandoned church a few blocks away with help from the community in one day, and the next we were back in action. Fifth and sixth grade split the sanctuary, third and fourth shared the multi-purpose room, second grade went to the living room of the church house, first grade was relegated to the living room of a trailer just behind the church, and kindergarten was split into two classes in office spaces in the back of the church. For breakfast and lunch, we unfortunately have to bus everyone the five minutes it takes to get up to the Mission Recreation Center, where a large enough kitchen and cafeteria are available.

Because of the split, I’ll be taking half of the kindergarten class for the rest of the year, teaching seven wonderful children basic reading, math, science, social studies, handwriting, and religion. I hope to get a few library and art classes in on the side as well, but I’m excited for the challenge of working with a group of students day in and day out. And besides, my little classroom, albeit sparse, has a window that lets in the morning sunshine, which is better than the windowless and drafty hall I’ve been in up till now. We’ve had two days of class in this new situation, and so far all has gone well. I’ve gotten into the groove of teaching a little as well as getting back into the groove of life in Hays after a brief trip to Washington, D.C.

Unfortunately, I was quite sick for most of my stay in D.C., but I was able to visit with a few college friends, have a productive job interview, and see the sights… no Obama, though… It was a bit of a culture shock to go from the middle of nowhere Montana to the big bustling United States capital, with such a different pace of life and a different set of values. It was overwhelming to realize how much of our country is on a go-go-go schedule, when I’ve learned to take life a little more slowly out here and savor each moment just a little more, a skill I hope to take with me as this year comes to a close. Even when situations may be wild, people out here have the capacity to step back and take a deep breath. Sometimes things don’t get done, but in other moments it allows for life—despite how over-the-top it may be—to seem feasible.

Refiner's Fire

2009-03-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

This year has been full of unexpected challenges, sporadic ups and downs, and a whole spectrum of feelings, emotions, and experiences in between, both for me and for all others at Mission Grade School. As I rolled out of bed on Thursday morning, we received a call from the principal that school was canceled due to a burst boiler. It had been installed in a faulty manner only a month ago, after having only one of our three boilers working in a season when the weather was frequently below zero. Luckily, as we went to investigate the situation (a few hours after firemen handled the fire), we found that the only room with fire damage was the boiler room. The fire had begun to spread into the basement, but was thwarted when it melted and thus spilled a number of large water bottles that quenched its nerve.

We canceled school for two days to let the smoke clear out and to clean up the one classroom that received a little smoke damage (a classroom which had originally been the stage above the gym but had to be converted due to a lack of space). It seems as though we can’t get enough of fires, what with the original fire that burned the school down in June, our little kitchen fire, and now the boiler. Our temporary school has provided many other fiascos as well… as school was canceled one day because the boilers kept the school barely at a chilly 30 degrees, a pipe in the kindergarten bathroom burst from frozen water, rain spilling into the gym and various classrooms from a leaky roof, lights deciding to shut off when the system is too overloaded, the phone line ceasing to function… to name a few. Perhaps in each of these challenges is a message from the Higher Being as we are guided through the Fiery Furnace. Here, in the refiner’s fire, our faith and endurance continue to strengthen.

In addition to fires in actuality, we’ve experienced a few emotional firestorms within our small community of Jesuit Volunteers the past few weeks. Tensions had been mounting up between each of us for a while over small issues that grew to astronomical proportions, and finally came to a head on Wednesday. After a few angry words and tears shed, however, our differences were solved, and the embers of anger have subsided. It was the first time I had been in a situation with housemates that was difficult and tense, but hopefully it is one I can learn from—how to confront conflict with grace.

One last fire I’ve felt is within my own heart. We have helped out Sister Laura, the nun who supports the community of Lodge Pole in the next town over (about 10 miles away) with her bible study classes for fifth and sixth graders the past few weeks. The group of four to eight students is wild, full of energy and often lacking in discipline. At first, it was hard to get to know and appreciate them when there was a general air of disrespect, but as we returned for a few weeks in a row, they have come to trust us and I have learned how to both respect them as youth and earn their respect in return. I can say that we all had a good time this week, learning a little about God, playing sardines, and laughing over pizza. As we drove the students home, soaring over the hills smoldering with the last blazes of the setting sun while singing country songs at the top of our lungs, my heart was ablaze with compassion for these kids. Each of them is coming of age in such a difficult time, learning to be resilient to the world yet I see somewhere deep inside a longing for affection, for an appreciation of their humanity and not just the airs of their pre-teen personalities. It was a beautiful moment to spend with them, and although I hardly know the students, we all felt a closeness to the shared fires within.

Expressions

2009-03-03T09:36:00.000-08:00

“Catch me if you can, Miss Johnson!” hollered Chastity, a stout seven-year-old with a wily smile, as she stormed off into a puddle of slushy mud around the churchyard. I ran wildly after her, lobbing a snowball in her direction and stomping in all of the mud puddles in an attempt to catch her (and make her guardian mad at her for having completely soaked and muddy clothes). In this moment, I felt fabulous, embraced by the warm sun, covered in mud from a recent slushy run in the canyon, and surrounded by the smiles of silly students. It’s coming to the time of the year where everything tends to slow down and life gets a little dull, although there’s plenty to keep me busy. But at times like these, enjoying a laugh with local children, I am reminded of the splashes in life, letting each day come as it will. I am here to take hold of each day, as I dive into each moment and embrace the sunshine of the moment.

As part of these moments of experience, last weekend I had the opportunity to attend a Sundance Singing, an event in preparation for the Sundance, a ceremony held in the summer. The event provided another cultural window for me, another puddle to peer into as I get my toes a little wet learning about the local culture. Prior to the Sundance, a number of people make the decision to be active participants in the tradition of prayer, fasting, sweats, singing, and dancing for four days held up in the Mission Canyon. The ceremony is very important—it is a form of intense and dedicated prayer for healing, for oneself, another, or one’s community. It is often a last plea to the Creator for help.

In preparation for the event, a number of preliminary gatherings are called throughout the winter and spring, and I was able to attend this one (there was a previous Sundance Singing, but I was not allowed to go because I was “on my moon.” Women are believed to be both too powerful and too vulnerable at this time of the month, so they refrain from going.) To give a taste of Indian Time, the event was scheduled to begin at sundown (around 6 pm), but we arrived at 8, and waited until about 10 for the proceedings to get underway. We only lasted until midnight, but singing probably continued until well after dawn. And like all gatherings on the reservation, the Sundance Singing began with a feed. The women sat on one side, the men on the other, and the food was brought out onto a tarp on the floor in between. The women prepared the food, and the men served. Each item was briefly lifted up off of the tarp as an offering to God first, and then the men went from person to person providing food—and it is very disrespectful to say no, so we took a few plates of various meats, pastas, pastries, and pop home with us.

After the meal, the men and boys sat on the floor in a circle and smoked peace pipes prepared by the pipe-bearer with cedar, sage, and tobacco. The women were passed out cigarettes, which we were meant to light in prayer or pull apart and spread to the North, East, South, and West. I did the latter on a walk in the hills the following day. It is interesting to see tobacco used in a traditional way—as part of a sacred ceremony. Yet, too, in a world where tobacco is highly advertised as a narcotic and use of tobacco for recreation is also widely prevalent, I wonder what effect this experience has on the younger generations present at the ceremony.

After the smoking, the singers were prayed over with smudging—burnt sweet-grass and eagle feathers brushed over their bodies. A buffalo robe was carried in and laid on the floor with the hid facing up. The men and boys gathered around it with sticks, beating in rhythm against the tanned hide. Others gathered around with drums, while the women sung from the chairs on the outskirts. Each person involved in the Sundance took a turn leading the singing, filing the room with the heartbeat of humanity.

One truly humanizing moment was when one man brought his granddaughter to the front of the room, who sat in a wheelchair with a listless expression on her face. He prayed upon her and her family as he spread eagle feathers over her person, asking for her seizures to disappear so that she may experience a life to its fullest. The whole family began to cry as he sang, unafraid to express themselves in a world where we are too often told to hide our emotions. It was a moment when I felt truly moved by the challenges of the family, finding that I, too, prayed with my whole being for her healing and for the healing of all those on the reservation who suffer from sickness and disease, be it alcoholism, fetal alcohol syndrome, seizures, diabetes, arthritis, depression…. There is so much need in this community, yet also such a passion for change, for renouncing the sorrows of rural reservation life. It is a juxtaposition of hope against actuality. Pray with me that in the seasons of time hope be the stronger of the two.

Young at Heart

2009-02-17T11:39:00.000-08:00

Time seems to be speeding up as I look back upon the past seven months and forward to the next three. Lately during my free time it has been easy to get caught up with the “what ifs” of the future, wondering where I’ll be next in my life, planning out time to work on applications, stressing over e-mails I haven’t yet received. But while at school, the eyes of every child remind me that the important time to live is in the now. I have been enjoying school greatly, although the past few weeks have dragged out a little, perhaps from a lack of initiation on my part to make sure my soul truly is present. I hope in the upcoming week I can rededicate myself to the moment and to the magnificence of each child I encounter.

Two weeks ago I had the challenge of substituting for the first grade class, a small group of fourteen splendid students, but rowdy nonetheless. I enjoyed spending my whole week with the class, getting to know them better and learning about the ins and outs of an ordinary day in the life of a classroom teacher. I can definitely say that I came out of the experience with a little more compassion for the work that our teachers do, and I don’t think I’ll be pursuing grade-school teaching anytime soon….

As refreshment from the challenges of the first grade class, we had our Winter Retreat with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps the following weekend. The focus of the retreat was on social justice, and it was very insightful to take a step back from my current environment and evaluate the micro and macro interplay of social issues that intertwine into the lives of students in Hays and Native Americans on the Fort Belknap Reservation. I was reminded of the statement I hear many people say on the reservation, “Some people visit, and they wonder if they’ve suddenly ventured into a third-world country.” I have almost become numb to the harsh reality of life on the Rez, and it was good for me to remember that what I see from day-to-day is not the norm within our nation. Instead, it is a great injustice, a network of issues that need to be addressed, not ignored. It was helpful for me to remember my task as a volunteer and what I can do to help. No, I cannot save people, nor can I expect that bearing the White Man’s Burden will help anyone. But I can take this life day-by-day and lay it down for others.

What I also found helpful while on retreat were the moments of rest and the relaxation of being with people my own age again. I enjoyed practicing standing on my head, trying to pick up a paper bag on the floor with my teeth while standing on one foot (and being champion of this so-called “Bag Game”), playing sardines in an ancient and enormous schoolhouse, and taking long runs along the frozen Missouri River. It was a humanizing time for me, as I remember that after all I’m only 22 with a life ahead of me, and it’s ok to act young every once in a while, an opportunity I don’t have very often in Hays. Additionally, as an activity with my community, we went out to get tattoos before returning to Hays. Now I have a permanent picture of a dove in henna-brown on my left side, perhaps a permanent testament to my future self that both social justice and the joy of youth can always meet in the middle.

Speaking on youthfulness, on Friday evening we had a school dance, decorating our gym with crepe paper and doily hearts. I enjoyed selling cupcakes to smiling students, playing limbo, singing the hokey-pokey, and electric sliding across the floor with dolled up and dandy grade-school children in their best red dresses and cowboy getup. It was also insightful, too, to see the wonderful family turnout—a testament that there are families who care for their children, dropping their own Friday activities so their children can have a little fun. And also a testament to the fact that Valentine’s Day here on the Reservation is almost more important than Easter or Christmas…. Trying to teach on Friday was quite impossible with the sugar-spun students. Personally, I had a wonderful Valentine’s Day as well. Us gals were invited to the priest’s house for a splendid brunch, and I enjoyed a peaceful afternoon watching Sleepless in Seattle and venturing out for a short while to watch the last home basketball game of the season for the Hays-Lodgepole Thunderbirds.

Sunday was spent touring around with 81-year-old Father Retzel, learning about a day in the life of a Jesuit priest. We had the opportunity to visit a number of people’s homes, eating two breakfasts, two lunches, and an early dinner as we went from place to place as Father Retzel prayed with and administered Eucharist to those who could not make it to church on this sub-zero day (the cold weather has returned). We ended our excursion at the Red Whip Gym at the Fort Belknap Agency, where a Round Dance was taking place. It was poorly attended, but I enjoyed listening to the circle of drummers singing and dancing (walking in step) in circles around the gym with my fellow volunteers. Historically, the round dance is not Gros Ventre or Assiniboine, but over the past fifty years it has been adopted by tribes across the country as a social dance—a community activity for any and all. And I am always blown away to see how much more integrated people are here on the reservation, the young mingling with the old and in-between in a magnificent melody of personalities all dancing to the beat of a drum.

Loving and Learning

2009-01-24T11:48:00.000-08:00

Both my life in Hays and Mission Grade School have been in back session for three weeks, a span of time that has rapidly passed by as I have spun from one activity to the next. At moments, I can experience the peace of rural America: watching snowflakes drizzle out of the sky and re-coat the cinnamon colored hills with a fresh whitewash while I curl into a pile of blankets and enjoy a cup of hot cocoa and good company. At others, though, I have been able to stay active in this place of relative hibernation. Here's a taste of the flavors of my life here in Hays these days. It’s long-winded, so feel free to pick and choose what you would like to read about.

Traditional Hand Games

Two weeks ago, we were invited to participate in a round of hand games, an American Indian activity performed at the beginning of the year as a way to bring both joy and prayer into the new season. The games began with a series of prayers over the bundle and the bundle-keeper, the cloth satchel filled with materials and the woman who has been entrusted with the task of keeping the bundle for a number of years. She, among others, sang, played hand drums, and prayed for the success of a new year as she unwrapped the bundle. Each person was given a small stick with an eagle feather attached, which we poised behind our heads, and we all prayed over the future year.

Then we let the games begin, in the traditional men-versus-women style. There were four games, in which each side (men/women) chose four people to kneel on the floor and hide small wood cubes in one of their hands, rocking the cubes in our hands to the beat of the drums and voices rising high in the Assiniboine language. A member from the opposite side was then appointed to pray over each person, passing by each person hiding the cubes with an eagle feather adorned rod. After the prayers, they then use symbols with the rod to guess which hand each cube is in, often trying to trick us newbies who don’t yet know what sign means which hand. If the guesser chooses the correct hand, the team gains a point, and if wrong, they lose a point. When a point is gained, the team pulls an eagle-feather stick from the opposing team, and the team that ends up with all of the feathers.

It was a very enjoyable game, although it was unfortunate that the women (far superior beings) lost overall. The games ended with a feed in which women prepared food and men served. The food was prayed over, and then each dish was lifted up off of the tarp (it was all laid out on the floor) as an offering to our ancestors above. Men went around the circle of chairs and filled our plates with every item. Contrary to White America where it is polite to deny food and eat with frugality, here in Hays you’re not allowed to refuse any food, so I ended up taking home two heaping plates of pasta, meat, and sweets.

Meditations in a Sweat Lodge

On Wednesday, I had the opportunity to go to a second sweat, this time in Hays. We were advised to buy tobacco, the traditional form of prayer and thanksgiving offered to the sweat leader. It was the first time I contributed to buying cigarettes (don't worry, I didn’t smoke them), and although it was befuddling and against my better judgment to bring narcotics as gifts, tobacco is and has been a part of the traditional Native American ceremonies for thousands of years. The cigarettes are given ceremoniously to the leader of the sweat, mentioning the reason for the gift, such as: “my grandfather is very sick, I need prayer for him.” We were told that each time people use one of the cigarettes offered at the beginning of the sweat, he or she offers a prayer for the individual mentioned.

At this sweat, the leader provided more of a spiritual and contextual backdrop for us newbies. The sweat is a tradition for all people, but leadership over different styles of sweats and the lore behind it is inherited down the family line. Our leader, Howard, learned his tradition from his father after apprenticing for ten years. As an introduction, Howard told us that the sweat lodge is meticulously made, and is created to symbolize the womb, a rebirth, a cleansing, as people come with their challenges, their sufferings, their joys, their prayers, and offer them up to the Creator.

The first hot rocks were brought in to the center of the lodge (a small dome of willow branches covered with blankets, hides, and tarps to create an absolute darkness) as we sat cross-legged in a circle, women facing South and men North. The door flap was closed, and water mixed with sage and cedar was poured on top, creating a steam that rose into the room. The sweat was divided again into four separate rounds, and the first round was dedicated to the East, to the rising sun, to the Eagle, to signs of new life. In this round, we were encouraged to pray for the infants and children of the community in Hays and of our global community. We began by speaking our own individual prayers for a few minutes, followed by a Gros Ventre song led by Howard. He finished and would say, “Ohai wankia, open the door.”

After a brief respite in which the flap was opened, we ensued our second round, praying to the South, to Mother Earth, and for all youth--especially for those on the reservation who fall prey to the variety of social problems due to isolation, discrimination, and poverty. The third round was the prayer of healing, where we were prayed for the greatest need of our hearts, be it a sick relative, a struggling family member, our own challenges, or any other prayer. We prayed for ourselves as a reminder that we can do no service to the world unless we reconcile ourselves to our own struggles. We also prayed to the West and for the adult generation and to Thunderbird for strength. In this round I was reminded of the rising need for adults on the reservation to rekindle their native beliefs, to follow the "red road" of spirituality. In our fourth and final round, we prayed to the North, to the great Bison, to the elderly within the community, to our ancestors who surround and watch over us.

During each round, the sweat lodge became a superheated sauna, my pours opened, and sweat came scalding off of my skin, as the voices and songs of those in the sweat lodge rose to the Creator and to our ancestors. There was an intensity of prayer that I had never achieved before, and it was an amazing experience to feel the closeness of God in the dark womb of the red road. On the last round, however, it got almost too hot for me, as my face and ears became scalding hot and I had to cover them with a towel (Howard, the leader, is known for making his sweats uncomfortably hot). I survived, however, and he told us that we able-bodied individuals are capable of suffering for a little while here in the lodge in order to pray for those whose suffering is great and long-term. It was an eye-opening moment into the significance of the sweat—a sweet suffering of supplication.

Vibrant Visitations

Yesterday afternoon, we went to the house of Liz and Toby, two of our community liaisons. We spent time relaxing with Liz and the children, and then attempted to go sledding in sub-zero weather. This activity, however, was abandoned after about ten minutes. We were told that you know its cold when your nose hairs freeze... I ended up giving a piggy-back ride to Aubrey, their 3-year old dynamite of a daughter, just to get some blood pumping in my veins! We returned to the house for a sizzling cup of cocoa and popcorn, followed by a delicious “Gene Auntry” pizza covered with avocados, chicken, and a rambunctious ranch dressing (believe it or not there’s a great pizza parlor 45 minutes away—the Hitching Post). We spent the rest of the evening playing Guitar Hero (complete with drum set, microphone, and guitar) with the children and later relaxing with Bazoo, Toby’s elderly father (who has fathered nine children) while an old western played in the background.

A week ago, Bruce, our area director who checks up on us a couple times a year, came to visit, and we had a potluck with a wide variety of people over for brunch. It was wonderful to have such a peppering of people from the community, to open up our house, and to enjoy the company of others. We had invited quite a mix—and a number of people we knew were not necessarily on the best of terms. We had hoped that this would be a place for them to gather and see the good side of each other, and luckily all went well. It is at moments like these that I enjoy the small town atmosphere, the value that is placed on visiting, and spending time enjoying the company of others. Time is not as fixed out here, where people still remember the days when there were no need for clocks and schedules. In small aspects of life such as this, I see a window into how the community on the reservation still retains aspects of its former lifestyle. For instance, there is no such thing as a short visit… you’ll drop by for a five-minute stop, and it turns out to be five hours… but what could be more important than listening, learning, and sharing with others, anyways?

Fire in the Hold!

On Saturday evening, we had the brilliant idea to try our hand at making Fry bread (excellent fried bread used at almost all gatherings in lieu of soup rolls, dinner bread, pastries—with maple topping on them, and a variety of other uses). Unfortunately, instead of bringing the oil to a boil like our original plan, it started burning in the pan. Luckily, the fire never got off of the stove, but our stovetop fan got a little charred and the cabinets and wallpaper just above it look a little smoky. It was minimal damage and no one got hurt, but it was quite a nerve wracking few minutes of my life. Needless to say, it was quite an experience to use a fire extinguisher for the first time, and luckily the grease fire was small enough that (even though such procedures are usually different for grease fires) it went out right away. Hopefully that will be the first and last time I’ll ever need to put out an (accidental) fire.

To Return and Remember

2009-01-07T11:38:00.000-08:00

It is perhaps a great feat of technology to be able to transition between worlds so rapidly, from rural Montana to the metropolis of the San Francisco Bay Area. But perhaps some part of me recognizes that us as human beings are not quite made to change our worlds so rapidly. It has been a little difficult to prepare my mind for the transition back into my life here in Hays; the winter vacation was wonderful but whimsically short. I enjoyed tromping through the snow with my family, barking with my dog, and visiting my grandparents, sipping a cup of scented tea... all activities that have been good for my soul. I have much enjoyed my time in Montana, but returning home made me realize how much I miss my family and life I’ve left behind for the year.

Heading home for the holidays, however, has also given me the positive opportunity to reflect on the year so far. I have been able to have a clear mind about my experience so far. I have enjoyed teaching art (and tutoring and library), but where I have found the most joy is in simple conversations, smiles, time with students, faculty, and community members who have welcomed us into their homes. I have learned most about what it means to be a community here where humanity may be all that is relatively constant in one’s life.

Hays is not bereft of social problems, family feuds, violence, and animosity, but as well as its problems Hays has a sense of camaraderie, fellowship, humor, and strength that has gotten it through so many years of struggle. I have learned most from this—the candid testimonies of students I tutor as they reveal short synopses of their lives, the invitation to eat and enjoy when we drop by for a “short” visit, the sese that there’s time for Humanity—to spend time in the society of others. And it is in these times I feel the hope of spending a year serving and being served the wonderful fruit of community.

Hope is what gives us flight—in short, freedom, or at least an abiding hunger for it.

—Paul Loeb

Comfortable Companionship

2008-12-08T15:25:00.000-08:00

Each passing day seems to rush forward faster than the previous, as the school year speeds by. The past few weeks have been packed with activities, both fun and insightful. It was interesting to celebrate Thanksgiving in an Indian Reservation—we went to Ashland, Montana, on the Crow Reservation where another Jesuit Volunteer Corps community lives, but we had ample opportunity to celebrate at school as well, as we focused on the celebratory side of the first community meal between new acquaintances over four hundred years ago. I recall one individual mentioning in a humorous manner, “I don’t know why we gave you that turkey anyways,” but overall, there was a lack of negativity over the holiday, and it was seen as a way for families to come together for a special meal. I enjoyed our trip to Ashland, spending time with people my age who come from similar background, and seeing the phenomenal facilities at the Saint Labre Indian school (and wondering why ours isn’t quite as state-of-the-art). We had a fun Thanksgiving football game between houses, a real home-made cornucopia (bread), and more fabulous food than we know what to do with.

Besides spending time with other young folk, learning how to crochet, and playing plenty of card games, the best part of the trip was being invited to a local sweat. It is a traditional prayer and cleansing ritual that many people still practice today. A sweat lodge is a relatively small, round structure built out of bent tree branches, blankets, and tarps, structured like a planetarium, without the stars. Individuals file in and (in our case all 17 volunteers plus a number of community members) crunch into two semicircles on either side of the middle, with men on one side and women on the other. In the middle is a hole in the ground and outside there is a large bonfire. Sweats are broken down into four rounds, and at the beginning of each round, hot rocks from the bonfire are brought in and doused in water, creating a steam. The flap to the door of the sweat lodge is closed, and the ceremony begins. A prayer starts the round off, followed by two to three songs in the native language of the people.

It took me a while to get comfortable with the intense heat, close quarters, and sweat that started to pour off of me until I was soaked (more sweat than I thought possible). But with the songs mingling in the air and the communal voiced prayers of all people around, the experience became transcendent, and altogether spiritual. As Vincent, one of the leaders of the ceremony mentioned, “you get in touch with who you really are, and then you leave it behind.” After each round, there was a brief period of rest when the flaps opened and the cold winter night cooled us off, until another pile of rocks were brought back in to begin another period of prayer. I was very honored to be able to participate in the ceremony, and it was amazing to experience God in a new environment, one that really brought my heart close to the reality of the world and the Creator’s love for his world.

Each passing day at school continues to improve as well, as I become more accustomed to teaching and the faces of each child become more endearing. Art has been fantastic, and the joy that each student expresses when they share their creativity has been astounding. The first few months were definitely difficult as I shaped the role that I would play at Mission Grade School, but I feel like I have finally found my place, and I look forward to how I can empower the students through the curriculum and my time tutoring one-on-one with students. Within the community as well, there has been more opportunity to get to know people. We’ve started up once-weekly volleyball nights in our school gym for the community, and it has been a great way to get to know people and spend time having fun and being humbled by how little I know of the game… I enjoy Honor Nights, special events for students who receive high achievement/behavioral marks in class as a way to reward their hard work, playing games such as elbow tag, basketball, and ultimate Ro-sham-bow. It provides a space to have fun with students, without the need to teach or discipline—simply enjoying acting like a child and providing the students with a safe place to play.

We also have time to drop by a few houses and visit, playing cards, having dinner, and leisurely letting life pass by in good company (a skill that has been difficult to acquire after the fast-paced life of college). There has been time for leisure, but it seems that we volunteers keep ourselves fairly busy as well, what with evening activities, community and spirituality nights that we have between the four of us volunteers, and cooking up a storm. I’ve learned to create such “delicacies” as homemade bread and tortillas, chicken with white and wild rice soup, our family favorite spinach and meatball soup, and plenty of delicious baked goods! Yesterday we went “huntin’” with Cindy, our reading tutor, and her family, which was a blast. We got to see a bit of the countryside, foxes, coyotes, and deer, and luckily nothing was shot. I even fired a gun at a can, which was rather scary! School was canceled today, so I had a restful day at Cindy’s house spent in front of her wood stove enjoying crocheting and the company of careening kittens. It is starting to feel like home here, as I learn the ropes of rural life and feel more integrated into the community, and as I look out the window and see a light dusting of snow, the cold weather hasn’t shooed me off yet…

Peace and Pain

2008-11-16T13:28:00.000-08:00

After a whirlwind of activity in October, November has been a much more mellow month, and I have come to enjoy the pleasant afternoon jogs through the light dusting of snow, the peaceful evenings sipping tea over conversations and puzzles, and the more frequent visits with people in the community. I am beginning to feel at home in this patch of nowhere, and the pace of rural life has finally sunk into my system. Even at school, I have begun to feel more relaxed as I have a clear schedule set up and understand a little more of the basics of teaching. One particularly enjoyable moment was at Honor Night, a special night for students who excel in school, as a reward for their dedication. I sat in the kitchen with two sixth grade students, Olivia and Mae, and gave them a mini-lesson on how to draw horses. It was wonderful to impart my knowledge on them, and to see them laugh and enjoy the challenge of sketching one of God's grandest creations.

In order to gain awareness about the systems that function (or dysfunction) on the reservation, we headed to the agency in order to pick up our commodities for the month (a staff member from school usually picks them up for us). Each month members of the reservation with little/no income are allotted a food box of commodities such as fresh fruit, vegetables, canned foods of all kinds, cereals, pastas, breads, etc to get them through the month. The program functions much like that of emergency food box programs across the country. It was interesting to see the selection of foods, and to learn that although there is a variety of fresh fruits/vegetables available, many people choose not to receive these items, because they do not last and because there is little nutrition/cooking education about how to use such foods, as opposed to canned/frozen foods. The commodity program is interesting in that it acts as a patch for the high rates of unemployment and poverty on the reservation, but it also reduces the incentive to look for jobs or to revamp local systems to reduce job discrimination or unemployment because it provides for immediate needs. In a similar way, people are often issued houses by the government (that are brought in on trailers), so housing is automatically provided, thus furthering the lack of incentive to change the real issues at hand.

Another moment of awakening for me this month came at school when I was tutoring a student in the hallway. I overheard the principal talking to a few students who had been playing "Cowboys and Indians" at recess, chiding one of them for calling another a "White boy." It hurts to hear that discrimination from mainstream America reaches the children on the reservation, who then turn these issues around and use reverse discrimination to pinpoint people of difference within their own community. It isn't often that we hear of such discrimination, but the oppression runs so deep that those who are discriminated have little to do but to become oppressors in their own lives, whether it be to other people or their own selves through drug abuse or alcoholism. Although this was a disheartening conversation to overhear, I have hope that there is still much goodness in our community, and that each act of kindness at our school and in our community can create a change for the better.

Reveries and Reflections

2008-11-03T14:58:00.000-08:00

“Peace is present right here and now, in ourselves and in everything we do and see. The question is whether or not we are in touch with it…”
-Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace is Every Step

As I reflect on the past few weeks, I see a whirlwind of activity, thoughts, and emotions, a challenging time, yet one that I hope that I grow through. The Jesuit Volunteer Corps director came for a quick visit a week and a half ago, and last weekend was our fall retreat in beautiful Big Fork. Through conversations and learning sessions, I was challenged to remember why I’m here in Hays—to serve with love and compassion, to connect a history of pain to a future of possibility, to reconcile cultural clashes, to live a lifestyle of mindfulness and commitment to change.

Life here is very disconnected from much of modern America, a culture of its own as a rural, impoverished, and culturally distinct community. It is often easy to live day by day without seeing the greater issues woven haphazardly through the community; to take everything as normative, a way of life, instead of challenging the structures that create the situations we see. I was reminded to think critically about what I see around me and motivate myself and others to be mindful of the liberation I hope to help facilitate. Although it is easy to return to life and forget about the new commitments that I have made, I hope to take steps towards continuing in the process of learning and liberating.

One such moment was earlier this morning as we attended a church service in Lodgepole, a 15 minute drive from Hays. Unlike masses in Hays, the pews were nearly full, and the sanctuary was decorated not only with the traditional catholic art—statues, stained glass, and tabernacles, but also with art that people from the community had made—beadwork inlaid in every decoration, a cross that represented both Christianity and Indian Spirituality, and worship music that at times had the country twang of cowboy culture and at other times reflected the traditional songs in the Gros Ventre and Assiniboine languages.

I was deeply touched when we listened to one such song as a congregation, the drum beating to the dance of my heart and the voices stretching up to the sky in a cry for peace, for mercy, for reconciliation with the world of the past. And it was joyful, too, to end the church service with a rousing rendition of “I’ll Fly Away,” one of my favorite songs, followed by a fabulous pot-luck lunch. Seeing the infusion of both cultures—of the oppressor and the oppressed—in a striking interplay of divergence and relation reminded me of the spiritual struggle that many people have faced as they seek out the sacred in a society where their beliefs are rarely recognized.

At school, I sometimes feel the tug of this interplay of beliefs, as we practice Catholicism and attempt to balance native culture, although the majority of us teachers do not understand the true depth of Indian spirituality. I hope that with time, I can learn how to honor both religious beliefs and reconcile with myself the positive and negative influences that “The Mission” has on the local culture. I have heard a little about the oppression the boarding school brought in the past and here and there I sense that even today there is a disconnect between the community, the families, and the leadership at our school. I hope to learn about this disconnect and challenge myself and my JVC house to be a part of the healing within the hearts of our students, within the community, and within my own mind as well as I learn to discard the “White Man’s Burden” for a true understanding as I learn to bear witness to the reality and struggle not to become numb to this truth.

My day-to-day life has become punctuated by these reflections as I struggle to find my place, a challenge I foresaw and now face. I am not needed as desperately in kindergarten anymore as the students have become accustomed to the routine of school, yet I find that my librarian and art periods are relatively short. I love both activities, and I especially enjoy seeing the joy that students have in creating their own masterpieces. But I also feel unused, as I work out a tutoring schedule with teachers. They are already inundated with tutors (which is a good thing), and only a few need me in addition to the others, and I find a lack of support from the school leadership to find ways to best use my time for the good of the students. In the next few weeks, I hope to figure out how I can be of service in a deep and desired way.

Through these challenges and expressions, I also find time to laugh as I learn to let loose in my new home. As a community, the four of us girls find many more situations in which we laugh ‘till our stomachs hurt, we’ve enjoyed being on the road to see Great Falls, Big Fork, and Billings, I have come to love many of the students at Mission much more deeply, I enjoyed dancing as a scarecrow in the school gym with costumed kids, and I ironically had fun getting scared in the local haunted house (Halloween is a big deal around here). I am learning to see the joys and pains that mark my life as I learn about this world and this person who I was, who I am, and who I’ll be. And thank you for your support in this endeavor as I live out my life, touched by yours and the vibrancy you reflect to me.

“The fresh and beautiful moon is traveling in the utmost empty sky. When the mind-rivers of living beings are free, that image of the beautiful moon will reflect in each of us.”
-Chinese Poem

Travelling Tourist

2008-10-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks I’ve felt most like a tourist than when I first arrived. We took a “tour” to see the reservations 400-heat bison herd (not to be confused with the Asian “buffalo”), and it was amazing, once we located the herd on their expansive range. We watched them curiously walk within fifteen feet of us—large, furry brown masses of animal, alive and aware. It was neat to see their different behaviors, such as wallowing in the dirt to show us they’re not afraid, raising their tails in signs of warning, and taking off across the grassland with a speed and agility you’d think impossible for their size. As we watched antelope on the same wildlife reserve racing alongside the truck and listened to our guide talk about the history of the bison for his people made me realize how out-of-touch with nature most of us humans are nowadays.

Last weekend, we went to the Chinook Sugar Beet Festival, which was not exactly much in terms of an event, but we enjoyed visiting the local museums in town. We had a four-day weekend as well, and we seized the moment by going to the city of great Falls for a few days. We lodged at the historic Ursuline Center, an old Catholic boarding school transformed into a retreat center. We enjoyed the company of the elderly nuns who used to be teachers at each of our meals, as well as a humorous guest priest from India and the night-watchman George, a French-Chilean immigrant.

We visited a few art museums; looking at the beautiful, creative historic art by people such as CM Russell re-kindled my love for art, and reminded me of how truly expressive it can be as a way to show who you are and what you stand for. I also enjoyed visiting the Buffalo Jump, a historic landmark that was used for hundreds of years by American Indians to kill Bison. Without horses, tribes used skill and wit to dress up in bison calf robes and lure the herd up a hill and over a cliff, flanked behind by people wearing wolf skins. The bison would plummet to their death in entire herds (rather like lemmings), supplying the people with food and supplies for a year. We also visited the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center, which was very interesting, but what made it better was the personalized tour provided by George and the Huckleberry ice cream we sampled afterwards.

Overall, these past few weeks have passed by in a great rush of time, but I have enjoyed the outings, learning about having a simple mind and a clear connection to God, and learning to love the children at mission grade School more and more as the bonds of trust begin to form.

Speechless

2008-10-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

Pow-Wow

Colors shout jubilee hues; ecstatic
hope tones splash puddles into movement;
conscious streams rush to rising ebbs
between beats between voices silence
speaks

Tepid treaties trickle through her shawl shudders, shaken,
she soars--
Empty bottles surge, soiled feathers, stretched leather
catch his braids; weighted
he rises--

waterfalls against youthful arcs--
colors sing again.

In trying to process my thoughts, words formed into a poem that describes what I saw at our school pow-wow last Friday. All of the classes filed into our small gym with a slightly leaky roof (we went from a burnt building to a flooded one...) and formed a circle around the rim. Families and elders joined our students, as we sat and watched the festivities begin with a drum in the center, with four musicians set a beat and began to sing the high, glorious tones of Gros Ventre music. A handful of students dressed in colorful costumes entered the floor for the Grand Entry, encircling the rich melody of music. As the pow-wow progressed, students on the sidelines shook off their shyness to join in the dancing, to be a live in their own heritage. It was a beautiful and jubilant display, and yet, as I held hands with other students in the great owl dance, I could not forget the past pain of the community due to discrimination and the present suffering caused by poverty and alcoholism in the lives of many of the children. But then, seeing such an enthusiastic embrace of life helped me to realize the hope each soul has for change.

Another insightful moment came in a dinner conversation with Tuffy and Little Don, two teachers at the public schools who specialize in American Indian music, culture, and the Gros Vetre, Assiniboine, and Native American Sign Languages. They told us a little of the cultural background of the tribes, but perhaps most importantly they told us about what realities many of our students come from--such as 87 percent unemployment in families, poorly constructed government housing, minimal incomes... It made me soften my heart towards the students, a reminder that however challenging each child may be, their lives are much more difficult to navigate than I may ever understand.

One particular statement that caught my attention during our conversation was when they stated that the Native Americans on the reservation have copied other people, steadily losing their own sense of culture. At first, they were forced to imitate white people, when children were rounded up and taken to boarding schools, forced to forget their reality--their culture, history, and lifestyles. (For a good movie that demonstrates the reality of boarding schools in the early 1900's, I recommend "Rabbit Proff Fence," a movie about this same concept occurring to the Aboriginal people of Australia). Tuffy remembers his mother telling stories of the struggles that her family faced in trying to remain whole and hopeful. He remembers her saying that all per people know how to do is imitate other cultures, and soon her children would imitate African Americans. Here we are, at a school where the styles are basketball shoes, large baggy pants, sideways hats... Tuffy now tells his children that they'll probably imitate Chinese Americans soon, with both a tone of sad foreboding and humor. This dual tonality is a part of the lifeblood of the local community, as Lil' Don (as most people say it with their Northern country drawl) noted that despite the trials he and his people have experienced, you have to have the capacity to laugh. Life is empty without a little humor. It helped me to understand the weight of reality, yet the resilience that people like Lil' Don and Tuffy have to recognize reality and laugh in its face--a sweet and strange survival mechanism.

With all of these experiences and many of my own thoughts clouding my head, I was able to get away one afternoon, heading up into the canyon a ways and just sit. Just watch the aspens bend and shake in the breeze. Despite the forced simplicity that living in Hays offers away from the bustle of city life and technology, I find it hard to pause in my life to listen, to be. Finally, I found a moment of silence inside my head, where I felt a powerful peace burst from from my soul, with a sense of relief that I don't have to know all of the answers to the questions rumbling around in my head. All I must do is be, and be still. To know there is Someone in me, around me, embracing the trees, comforting my people, never ceasing to create what is Good.

And now, I'm recovering from being speechless, both emotionally as I took in the reality of the world I find myself in, and physically from the cold that has left me with little voice, as I navigate teaching in a whisper... I also started my first art lesson a few days ago, which was wonderful, despite speaking like a frog. I'm excited to continue delving into my passion for art and sharing it with others!

The photos above are of a student dancing during the Pow-Wow in our gym, and of a glorious morning rainbow over the church after an early morning thunderstorm...

Autumn Leaves

2008-09-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

"Climb the mountains and receive their good tidings. Nature's goodness will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while--cares will drop away like autumn leaves."
-John Muir

These past few weeks have flown by as autumn rushes in and my heart begins to settle in Montana. I still don't call this place home, but each day I feel a little more comfortable in the big sky country. School rages forward with all of its joys and challenges. Each day is filled with rambunctious Kindies, punctuated by energetic library sessions with each of the classes. I'm starting to enjoy my time with the students as I travel from room to room, beginning to know their names, personalities, and interests as I carry out a bookwormish curriculum.

My most memorable experience this week occurred yesterday at a native games event. It was low key, with people, horses, dogs and cars milling around an open field in the fresh fall breeze. A few of us were asked if we wanted to ride, and how could I decline? I hopped on a palomino pony, wooden stick in hand, and raced around the field trying to catch as many 6-inch rings suspended in the air, all the while trying not to loose concentration by laughing hysterically. It's in moments like these that I realize the wonder of life and I feel at peace with myself and my life in its rush of newness. And as the leaves of autumn begin to turn into a bold display of ochres and saffron, I look forward to the ways in which my own heart will be enlivened by the colors of life ahead.

The photos are of elk at a wildlife preserve an hour from our house, where the elk come out in the hundreds in the early fall, and of the beginning of fall as aspens change color in the canyon where I run in the afternoons

Reservation Blues

2008-09-14T16:31:00.000-07:00

Dancing all alone, feeling nothing good
It's been so long since someone understood
All I've seen is, is why I weep
And all I had for dinner was some sleep

You know I'm lonely, I'm so lonely
My heart is empty and I've been so hungry
All I need for my hunger to ease
Is anything you can give me please

I an't got nothing, I heard no good news
I fill my pockets with those reservation blues
Those old, those old rez blues, those old reservation blues
And if you ain't got choices
What else do you choose?
-Sherman Alexie, Reservation Blues

I am reminded of the difficulties and trials faced by the community of Hays. As I get to know the students at Mission Grade School and their families, the truth about poverty in Rural America and discrimination towards Native Americans become evident. Look closely into the toothless grins of Kindergarten kids and see rows of silver teeth where strong bones should be growing in. Look into the hands of the children and see grubby dirt and warty fingers, where clean and soft skin should be. Look into their families and see separation, drug and alcohol abuse, and disappearances, where wholeness should be. Look into their hearts and see tender souls longing for something called love.

One such child is Troy, a 5 year old Kindergartner who is a constant disruption for our class, often in inappropriate ways. He tries my patience every day, and he is sent to see the principal almost every hour. But why? Because of his unknown and untreated mental disability, a father he may not remember, a mother behind bars, and no home to call his own. But there is hope. Our principal scheduled him for tests at the agency and he'll soon start a medication that will help his behavior, and, perhaps best of all, his grandmother will begin to look after him. There are many such students with similar stories, and although it is often hard to remember their painful histories when the classroom is in utter chaos, my heart is beginning to break for them.

And I've had a few chances to play with the students outside of school, where i no longer have to act the part of disciplinarian. Yesterday, our house went to the Homecoming Football game (in mild rainfall...) and instead of watching the Hays/Lodgepole Thunderbirds get demolished by their rival, the Rocky Boy Reservation, we played with the children on the sidelines. And today, we visited the final children's rodeo of the summer, watching our tiny students stick to the backs of calves and race around barrels, and playing cowboys on the bleachers.

With each of these activities, I am beginning to feel a little more a part of the community. Last night we went to a baby shower for Tilli Anne Rose, a beautiful tiny girl, daughter of one of our community liaisons (and a former JV). The roomful of women aged 1 week to 7o years played bingo, getting-to-know you games and relays, peppered with conversations and congratulation cake. I felt a little less anxious and on-edge than I had in August, although I'm still nervous and shy. Perhaps my anxieties are slowly peeling off like the layers of an onion, to use Shrek's wonderful metaphor.

I am getting along well with the community members of my house, also, as the four of us learn how to get along. We bond over cooking creative and cheesy meals (we get a HUGE block of American cheese from commodities that doesn't have to be refrigerated...), evening walks watching the sun set over the distant Bear Paw Mountains, and long car rides into Havre to go grocery shopping. Starting again with new friendships is exciting, but it has also made me appreciate deeply those wonderful bonds that I have already created with each of you. I can never thank you enough for all of the blessings that you have given me. And whenever a wisp of loneliness clouds over my heart, I look to the big ever-changing Montana sky and remember God's peaceful presence, and the light He has shown me through you.

If you'd like to see a short video clip from one of Sherman Alexie's movies, click on the link below. It's tough to watch, but powerful in its truth:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3t7n3QxPnI

Life and Spirit

2008-09-01T12:45:00.000-07:00

The first week and a half of school is over, but it was quite a trial. I have been helping out in the undersized and overstuffed Kindergarten classroom for the beginning of the year, and they are sixteen rowdy little children. Many have never learned to sit still for so long, and it seems like there is often either too little discipline or too little love at home. Many of the children come from nurturing homes, but many have broken backgrounds, and the transition to school is a challenge. I oftentimes feel like the classroom police officer dealing out tough love, but little by little the children are learning what it means to "learn" and how we go about doing so (how to sit without squirming, how to hold a pencil and not chew the eraser, how fold your hands and not pick your nose...). Next week I will hopefully start as the librarian, which I am excited about, although I must admit that I have started to get attached to the squirmy little Kindies, despite the headache and exhaustion at the end of the day...

This weekend our house--Amanda, Caroline, Anne, and I--went down south to Lewistown for a Metis (pronounced Meh-teese) Pow-Wow, which was fun. The first night was a small fiddling contest, which tickled my ears with fancy tunes. The following day we watched a variety of different dances in Native American costumes, and I was mystified by the cacophony of colorful outfits, the rhythm of voices echoing the drum that has etched its way through time, and the power of the people to transmit the spiritual into the real. The three main dances we saw were Traditional, where both men and women dress up and dance to an often slow and rhythmic beat; Fancy, where women dance like butterflies with shawls and men act out the trials of war; and Jingle, where women dance out beats with beautiful bell-adorned dresses. Many people from Hays were there, and it was a wonderful opportunity to spend time getting to know people and sleep out under the stars. And I'll admit that it was also nice to get a sundae in one of Lewistown's parlors, as well (We've been trying not to stray too far from the commodity diet, but it's been a challenge for my stomach...). The past few days have been lazy as we rest up for another week of school and stay out of the blustery weather, but the simplicity of spending time in quiet rest has been soothing for my soul.

The past few weeks have been quite a rush, and I finally feel like I have the opportunity to sit back and reflect on what I have experienced. It feels both as if I've been here forever and as if I'm still a stranger. As I think about the past few weeks, I see a great time getting to know people as I step out of myself, but as I look inward, I see an uncertainty. I have not taken the time to center myself spiritually and to reflect on how I am to be used by the Creator--an inner presence and outer reality--that draws heaven closer to myself and those around me. As I look towards the close of my first month, I hope to look deeper into my actions and let my motivation be drawn from God's supernatural love for humanity.

Wide open spaces

2008-08-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

My new life has begun in the big sky country, where the Creator blazes the sky with beats of a blue drum and sings the night into being with slow sundances of ocher dust that settle above purple mountains. Below the beauty of the open expanse, aspens quake in the canyon and the stream spreads from the mountains into the valley grass. Spread across this array of nature and telephone poles are the small HUD houses of the Fort Belknap Reservation, stocked once a month with commodity cheese and fuzzy televisions, canned spinach and hand-me-down clothes, powdered milk and too much dust. And this is Home for the Gros Ventre and Assiniboine people living in Hays, a town with a welcome sign that boasts a "population of 1,400 people and 1 old grouch."

As I have come to know the community, I have learned that these people groups have endured centuries of being treated as people whose land is a free commodity, endured treaties with fuzzy outlines that fail to favor freedom, endured shipments of canned ingredients for "How to Be White," endured hand-me-down laws that fail to deliver peace, and endured modernization powdered with social and environmental injustice. Yet as I have met members of the community, I have found that their hearts have not been stilled by the abuses of oppression, nor their culture lost amidst the culture of dominance. Our first evening on the reservation was spent at the annual Pow-Wow, a cultural celebration of color, creation, and community as people dressed in beautiful ropes and danced to the rhythm of the earth as people sang her song and drummed to the beat of her heart. This celebration demonstrated to me that there is still a voice of hope in a land of loss, as many people seek to revitalize their cultures and improve the community in which they live.

Although I am an outsider, members of the Fort Belknap community have welcomed me and the other three volunteers in as a pat of this voice of hope, and I am excited to follow where this voice may lead. The first day of school begins tomorrow, in a former community center that will be used as our building. Although I am nervous about how I will be used to minister to children who come from broken homes and underprivileged situations, I also feel ready to begin this year with my "locomotive library," a bookshelf on wheels that I have converted into train that will visit classes, with the goal to encourage children to learn through reading.

My life so far has been peaceful--early morning runs through the cool canyon, preparatory work at the school, peaceful evenings in the "convent" conversing with my housemates Amanda, Caroline, and Anne. I've had time to read, watch a few with Olympics episodes and spend indescribably cleansing moments playing guitar in the backyard amid the tall grass and underneath the scarlet sky. I hope to find an inner wholeness and peace in my heart this year, and I hope to learn more about the broken peace that is our world.