This isn't meant to be a blog about faith. I suppose that because my faith is a part of who I am however, it is only natural to come up in my posts.
We are on our way home from a week with one side of my in-laws. My father-in-law is a man I have not spent much time with, although I know he is a highly religious man and quite evangelistic. While I consider myself a Christ follower, I would not put myself in the category of an evangelist. I am not eloquent with words and it is more of my belief that our actions speak louder than words.
The other morning, we were having a conversation in the kitchen when he suddenly steered the conversation over to the topic of salvation and more specifically the topic of my salvation. He was telling a story about his Grandfather when he asked me the question, "if someone asked you the question of why you should be let into heaven, what would you say?" I was not expecting to be put on the spot and stumbled over my words with the Sunday school answer I knew he was looking for, but questions like that bother me and quite honestly, they always have. I don't know if it's the feeling that I'm being judged by another human being or if I feel that my performance is what they'll be rating me on.
As we are driving across the very enormous state of Texas towards our home, my mind drifted back to that conversation in the kitchen. I think my father-in-law was satisfied with my answer, but I wasn't. It didn't feel like my words even though they came from my mouth.
As I was watching the brown, grassy landscape whiz by and the sun set behind those western Texas mountains, I began to contemplate and feel gratitude that in the end, I will not be judged by another human being. My score will not be given based on the number of Bible verses I can correctly quote and my place in heaven will not be determined by the eloquence of my words, because The Lord knows I am not an eloquent speaker! I am thankful that the One who judges me, knows my heart. He knows my thoughts. My doubts and fears are not hidden from him. He knows my story and he knows my ways better than I do. Thankfully, He will judge me without my spoken words because He knows what I would say anyway.
I should have been prepared, because I think my father-in-law has told me that story before, and now that I think of it, I think he's asked me that question each time we've spent time together. I hope the next time he does I can remember to respond with an answer more along the lines of "Thankfully my judgement is in the hands of God."
Friday, December 27, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
A promise in a rainbow
Last night as we left the animal shelter, the doctor warned me that tomorrow there would be 3 less dogs. I know that the shelter has been in financial strain as well as overflowing with animals with more and more coming in. We've helped make space as the dogs multiply, as people bring in more boxes of abandoned puppies, but usually we find other shelters that will at least take our puppies. At this point as we are busting at the seams, I understand that the doctor has to make these tough decisions.
When I asked who the 3 dogs that she would put down, I knew that there weren't any dogs that I would feel content with losing. However, knowing who's fate was death, was a burden I found difficult to bear.
Bolt came to the shelter as a puppy. He came soon after we began fostering Ruby, and we were certain that he was her puppy. He's a spunky little guy, but sweet. He's been at the shelter at least since April, with no interest in his adoption. Because he has been there so long, he was on the chopping block.
Mr. T (aka Jack), is a wiry, blue heeler mix. He snagged our hearts as soon as we met him. He's a little on the energetic side, but sweet. I know that both of these dogs would easily find someone who would love them anywhere off the Rez, but here in Kayenta, their chances were not good.
The third dog, is one that came in late last week. We also see the similarities between he and Ruby, which made us instantly fall for him. Each time I think that the cruelty or stupidity of humans cannot shock me, I find I am wrong. Two women brought this guy in. He was hiding in the bed of the truck, understandably terrified of them. When George came out to get him, we discovered why. Here on the reservation, sheep are castrated with the use of rubber bands. Rather than surgically sterilizing the male, they tie rubber bands around the testicles, and eventually they fall off and apparently heal on their own. Well, someone figured that would be the best way to prevent this little guy from reproducing, and by the time he arrived at the shelter, it was beyond cutting the rubber band to alleviate the pain, and yet they were still dangling from his body, bloody and undoubtedly sore. Despite his painful status, he did not snap or growl, he submissively went into his crate where he has waited.
After hearing the news of the fate of these dogs the kids and I were sad. We've discovered at different intervals of our time here, that dogs we loved had been put down because of different negative behaviors or for the sake of space-difficult decisions that I understand must be made under the circumstances. But knowing ahead of time, gave me the sense that I had a responsibility to do something. These young, sweet dogs would be a waste if put down now.
As soon as we arrived home, I began advertising these sweet dogs in any avenue I could think of and struggled under the burden of knowing their fate and wondering if I should bring them to our house until I could find a permanent home for them. Soon after I had finished my task and there was nothing to do but wait, Isaak announced that there was a giant rainbow that could be seen from our front door. I went out to see the magical arch and as I admired it's beauty, I was reminded of the story of Noah's Ark, and how after the destruction of the earth, God sent a rainbow as a symbol of his promise to restore the earth and not to destroy it again. It may seem cheesy, but at that moment I felt like it was a message to me, that things would be taken care of.
Soon after the appearance of a rainbow, I received an email from a woman who was very interested in meeting and adopting Bolt. She told me the story of her dog she had recently lost to cancer, and how she was ready to bring a new dog into her life. A couple hours later, I received a second email, this time someone was interested in Mr. T. The kids and I were so relieved and yet the fate of the half castrated dog still weighed on my heart.
This morning, I drove to the shelter to speak with the doctor about the homes I had found, praying that the dogs had not already been put down and trying to settle within myself that if the black dog was put down that at least he would be out of misery. When I announced that I had found homes, the doctor was shocked and when I pleaded for the life of the black dog, she immediately said she would save him. I was ecstatic and a bit overwhelmed at the small miracle that had occurred over the 16 hours.
I know it may seem silly to be so involved emotionally over the fate of dogs, when there are children battling cancer, children who are subject to domestic abuse, sexual abuse and hunger here on the rez. But as I have wrestled with these issues, I have come to realize that at this point in my life, I am not in a position to intervene for these children. I do not see these abuses, our house is too small to bring in another child (and the navajo nation does not allow non-natives to adopt Navajo children) and I am not involved in an agency that deals with atrocities. I am however, raising my children to feel compassion for those who are vulnerable and to do what we can to fight against injustices-even if it is a life of a dog. Perhaps someday I will be able to do more for the children through foster care or maybe even social work, but as I see it, Adam and Eve's job was to take care of the earth and the animals in it and at this time in our life, we are doing our small part to make Kayenta a better place.
When I asked who the 3 dogs that she would put down, I knew that there weren't any dogs that I would feel content with losing. However, knowing who's fate was death, was a burden I found difficult to bear.
The third dog, is one that came in late last week. We also see the similarities between he and Ruby, which made us instantly fall for him. Each time I think that the cruelty or stupidity of humans cannot shock me, I find I am wrong. Two women brought this guy in. He was hiding in the bed of the truck, understandably terrified of them. When George came out to get him, we discovered why. Here on the reservation, sheep are castrated with the use of rubber bands. Rather than surgically sterilizing the male, they tie rubber bands around the testicles, and eventually they fall off and apparently heal on their own. Well, someone figured that would be the best way to prevent this little guy from reproducing, and by the time he arrived at the shelter, it was beyond cutting the rubber band to alleviate the pain, and yet they were still dangling from his body, bloody and undoubtedly sore. Despite his painful status, he did not snap or growl, he submissively went into his crate where he has waited.
After hearing the news of the fate of these dogs the kids and I were sad. We've discovered at different intervals of our time here, that dogs we loved had been put down because of different negative behaviors or for the sake of space-difficult decisions that I understand must be made under the circumstances. But knowing ahead of time, gave me the sense that I had a responsibility to do something. These young, sweet dogs would be a waste if put down now.
As soon as we arrived home, I began advertising these sweet dogs in any avenue I could think of and struggled under the burden of knowing their fate and wondering if I should bring them to our house until I could find a permanent home for them. Soon after I had finished my task and there was nothing to do but wait, Isaak announced that there was a giant rainbow that could be seen from our front door. I went out to see the magical arch and as I admired it's beauty, I was reminded of the story of Noah's Ark, and how after the destruction of the earth, God sent a rainbow as a symbol of his promise to restore the earth and not to destroy it again. It may seem cheesy, but at that moment I felt like it was a message to me, that things would be taken care of.
Soon after the appearance of a rainbow, I received an email from a woman who was very interested in meeting and adopting Bolt. She told me the story of her dog she had recently lost to cancer, and how she was ready to bring a new dog into her life. A couple hours later, I received a second email, this time someone was interested in Mr. T. The kids and I were so relieved and yet the fate of the half castrated dog still weighed on my heart.
This morning, I drove to the shelter to speak with the doctor about the homes I had found, praying that the dogs had not already been put down and trying to settle within myself that if the black dog was put down that at least he would be out of misery. When I announced that I had found homes, the doctor was shocked and when I pleaded for the life of the black dog, she immediately said she would save him. I was ecstatic and a bit overwhelmed at the small miracle that had occurred over the 16 hours.
I know it may seem silly to be so involved emotionally over the fate of dogs, when there are children battling cancer, children who are subject to domestic abuse, sexual abuse and hunger here on the rez. But as I have wrestled with these issues, I have come to realize that at this point in my life, I am not in a position to intervene for these children. I do not see these abuses, our house is too small to bring in another child (and the navajo nation does not allow non-natives to adopt Navajo children) and I am not involved in an agency that deals with atrocities. I am however, raising my children to feel compassion for those who are vulnerable and to do what we can to fight against injustices-even if it is a life of a dog. Perhaps someday I will be able to do more for the children through foster care or maybe even social work, but as I see it, Adam and Eve's job was to take care of the earth and the animals in it and at this time in our life, we are doing our small part to make Kayenta a better place.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Home
Often as I'm complaining aloud or just in my mind, I am ashamed. I look around at the town of Kayenta and am often reminded that we live in one of the nicer homes in town. As I've written before, many people don't have running water or electricity in their homes. Many peoples homes are crowded with not "stuff", but people-more than there are beds or comforts. I complain about my blessings to people who don't realize, what (I think) they are missing.
Last night as we were looking at footage of the wreckage from the recent tornadoes in Oklahoma, I was once again ashamed at my ungrateful heart. I am always annoyed by others attitudes of entitlement and here I am as guilty as anyone of having that very attitude. One friend posted on Facebook, her prayer for these families, some of whom may have lost a child in the school, but also their home and all the pictures, artwork and memorabilia from that child. As I ponder this nightmare I am more determined to be grateful for the provisions
that I have, to thank God for my blessings in the moments that I find myself complaining, and live in a way that I won't be remembered for my spotless, beautiful home and perfectly positioned possessions, but for an attitude of generosity, hospitality and authenticity.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Lost for a Reason
So how did JJ get involved? Well, from his many hours on advrider.com, he was referred to Ron, the man who started the non-profit, as the man who could be the legs on the ground here on the Rez. In the last 4 months or so, JJ has delivered thousands of dollars to the organizations here in Kayenta that help the Navajo people. Charities such as the Catholic church-who opens their doors as a soup kitchen, Kayenta Baptist, who organizes a soccer program for the youth, and the shelter for women and children have received funds raised by fellow adventure riders.
This summer a campout is planned for adventure riders to gather and ride through the beautiful country that we currently call home, but also to accomplish some much needed construction repair for the people on the Navajo Nation. It's hard to believe, but many of the people here do not have electricity and running water in their homes. They have tires holding down their roofs from the powerful winds that whip across the town. The Lost for a Reason crew, hopes to make a dent in the long list of repair needs here on the Rez.
I am very proud of the work JJ does here. Throughout the last few months there have been many days that he has come home from work carrying the weight of these kids and people on his shoulders, with the same burden of hopelessness that is felt all over this reservation. He, like his co-workers, is overwhelmed at the devastating numbers of child abuse cases, and the high rates domestic violence, drug abuse, suicide, and alcoholism. Lost for a Reason is a blessing for the Navajo people, but also for JJ. It combines his love of motorcycle and adventure with his work of helping heal the brokenness of this place. The ability to do something practical for those hurting, and the enthusiasm from fellow riders and their desire to help, gives him energy to carry on. In the months since Lost for a Reason has taken off, I have seen a rejuvenated sense of hope and purpose in his work.
We felt we were called to Kayenta, and it is overwhelming the amount of need that we discover each day. It will take more than just prayer and a few people willing to live in this desolate region. The people of the Navajo Nation, and I suspect other reservations in this country, need more help. As we brainstorm more practical ways of helping the Navajo people, as JJ continues to search out organizations who are already helping the people in this community-who might need more support, I hope that you too will think of ways that you can help. We are looking into ways we can provide free or affordable clothing to the children of Kayenta. There is a need for staff throughout the medical center and there will be even more positions to be filled when the new hospital is finished next year. There is a need for mentors, after school programs, pregnancy prevention programs, etc. With the help of organizations such as Lost for a Reason, a spark has been started. It is our hope that whatever work is begun here, will be continued even after we leave.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
birthdays
Mykah has been really looking forward to her upcoming birthday. Not a day goes by without some conversation about it. This morning the conversation went like this:
Mykah: Mom, did you turn 5 after you were 4?
Me: yes, I turned 5 after I was 4
Mykah: gasp! (with excitement) And then did you turn 6 after 5?
Me: yes, I was 6 after I was 5.
Age. It's chronological.
Mykah: Mom, did you turn 5 after you were 4?Me: yes, I turned 5 after I was 4
Mykah: gasp! (with excitement) And then did you turn 6 after 5?
Me: yes, I was 6 after I was 5.
Age. It's chronological.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
10 years
It is hard to believe that ten years have passed since we said good-bye. This time of year always surprises me. How does the body know what month it is? How does my heart always remember before I see the date?
Not a day goes by that I don't think of you and your memory. Each time I make a loaf of bread or sit down at my sewing machine, I think of you and wish you were here. But life does not stand still and moments are lost wishing to change the past, and so as I have racked my brain with ways of celebrating your memory, and your life. I have chosen to remember on this 10th anniversary of your death, ten lessons I have learned from your life.
1. Serve others with love. You did this so well. Through work, church serving friends and family, you served always with love. I remember the hours you spent creating props for "Children and Worship", making gifts for loved ones, and the endless miles of driving us kids to our activities. I remember the stories of your patients who would ask that you be their children's god parent or even your hospital roommate in those last few days, who you were making sure she got out of bed, from the other side of the room. I am grateful for the 5 months you arranged your schedule and faithfully woke up early to take care of your grand baby, so that I could go to my teaching job before JJ got home from his night shift...
2. Have faith in God. There are so many times that I feel weak, and full of doubt. When you've been raised to believe that it takes only the faith of a mustard seed to move a mountain and you believe with all your heart that God is going to heal your sick mother because He has the power to do so, and He doesn't, then where do you turn and how do you learn to pray with faith again? In those moments, I remember you. I remember how you sang "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" so strong in that hospital bed, with the tubes of oxygen in your nose, and a smile on your face, when the rest of us could barely finish the song-even when you knew your life on earth would be ending too soon. And I remember the story of you seeing angels when they first put that breathing machine on, after you'd gone too long without oxygen and your lungs were so full of fluid. And I remember how you returned from wherever you were just to say goodbye to my sister and Grandpa in those last hours. In my darkest hours, I cling to your faith, because you were strong and I know you knew where you were headed next.
3. Be free to laugh and laugh often. I admire this quality although I don't follow your example nearly enough. A few weeks ago, the kids and I watched Dennis The Menace, and I could still hear your laugh each time Dennis was talking. I could imagine the tears rolling down your face as you laughed-much harder than anyone else-but not embarrassed to stifle the joy you felt. I remember how you would tell us stories about something that happened at work and how you could barely get through the story because you were laughing so hard. I wish I could laugh like that.
4. Love others cook them good food. You always made such good food. Although I have to admit I never liked the cheese strata and to this day I cannot eat eggy casseroles with bread, you inspired me to make food from scratch and taught me that homemade is always better than store bought. As a kid, I remember thinking Kraft macaroni and Butternut bread was a special treat (thank goodness my kids are smarter than I was at that age!) As I come across new recipes and have perfected oatmeal I wish I could call you to tell you about it, or better yet, make it for you. And I'm so grateful for that cookbook you made me of the "Bonga's Best." I will treasure it always.
5. Don't worry about what others think about you. I love that you wore Birkenstock clogs before they were cool, or did yard work in your stretch pants, and wore a nose plug to open swim. I love that you wore a bikini and laid out in the sun when it was barely warm, because you loved to and I love that you took piano lessons as an adult, and didn't worry about what others might think of you. I think we could all use a lesson about that.
6. Play with your kids. Another lesson I need to take to heart. I know you didn't always have time with a full time job, but I remember many times that you came out to play kickball with us. I remember coaching soccer with you in high school and playing soccer with you in college. You went on bike trips with Kendra and David and always encouraged us to be active.
7. Love your husband. I think that this lesson I learned equally from you and Dad, but I always felt secure in knowing that you loved each other. I only remember 2 disagreements between the two of you and they were such rare occasions, that they stuck in my memory. I remember you both being very affectionate when greeting one another, and no matter how much you hated watching tv, you often would take some time to sit and snuggle with him in front of it, just to spend time with him.
8. Have some discipline. Although you were a carefree spirit, you realized a need for balance and order. Saturdays we cleaned the entire house. You exersized regularly but also took time to sit and relax-drinking your coffee on the porch each afternoon. Although there was always flexibility with this rhythm, discipline was important for a happy home.
9. We are not exclusive. I remember your friends came in every color and race and so did ours. I don't remember noticing a difference until having a conversation with friends at church who could count the number of nonwhite kids in their school on two hands. I remember having a conversation with you as you were ironing, about my friend that I had grown up with, who had announced he was gay, and how you said that if we had been that way, you would love us the same. I remember how our home was always open to anyone and became a home for many outside of our biological bonds. You taught us to see people as people and nothing else.
10. Life is short, so live well. This is the hardest lesson you've taught me, and I'm not sure I've grasped the live well part yet. I have spent too much time over the past 10 years worrying about the expiration date of our time on earth and not enough time living the life. I have learned from those you confided in, that you always suspected you'd die at a young age, and yet I never suspected you had those thoughts. Some people say there is a reason for everything, perhaps there is truth in that. I think there could have been great reasons for your life to continue, many people may have gained faith or kept their faith, but that was not the way things worked out. Through your death, I learned a great lesson in loss, and I am grateful for who I am now You lived life well and I am thankful for the example you made and the legacy you left.
I love you mom.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of you and your memory. Each time I make a loaf of bread or sit down at my sewing machine, I think of you and wish you were here. But life does not stand still and moments are lost wishing to change the past, and so as I have racked my brain with ways of celebrating your memory, and your life. I have chosen to remember on this 10th anniversary of your death, ten lessons I have learned from your life.
1. Serve others with love. You did this so well. Through work, church serving friends and family, you served always with love. I remember the hours you spent creating props for "Children and Worship", making gifts for loved ones, and the endless miles of driving us kids to our activities. I remember the stories of your patients who would ask that you be their children's god parent or even your hospital roommate in those last few days, who you were making sure she got out of bed, from the other side of the room. I am grateful for the 5 months you arranged your schedule and faithfully woke up early to take care of your grand baby, so that I could go to my teaching job before JJ got home from his night shift...
2. Have faith in God. There are so many times that I feel weak, and full of doubt. When you've been raised to believe that it takes only the faith of a mustard seed to move a mountain and you believe with all your heart that God is going to heal your sick mother because He has the power to do so, and He doesn't, then where do you turn and how do you learn to pray with faith again? In those moments, I remember you. I remember how you sang "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" so strong in that hospital bed, with the tubes of oxygen in your nose, and a smile on your face, when the rest of us could barely finish the song-even when you knew your life on earth would be ending too soon. And I remember the story of you seeing angels when they first put that breathing machine on, after you'd gone too long without oxygen and your lungs were so full of fluid. And I remember how you returned from wherever you were just to say goodbye to my sister and Grandpa in those last hours. In my darkest hours, I cling to your faith, because you were strong and I know you knew where you were headed next.
3. Be free to laugh and laugh often. I admire this quality although I don't follow your example nearly enough. A few weeks ago, the kids and I watched Dennis The Menace, and I could still hear your laugh each time Dennis was talking. I could imagine the tears rolling down your face as you laughed-much harder than anyone else-but not embarrassed to stifle the joy you felt. I remember how you would tell us stories about something that happened at work and how you could barely get through the story because you were laughing so hard. I wish I could laugh like that.
4. Love others cook them good food. You always made such good food. Although I have to admit I never liked the cheese strata and to this day I cannot eat eggy casseroles with bread, you inspired me to make food from scratch and taught me that homemade is always better than store bought. As a kid, I remember thinking Kraft macaroni and Butternut bread was a special treat (thank goodness my kids are smarter than I was at that age!) As I come across new recipes and have perfected oatmeal I wish I could call you to tell you about it, or better yet, make it for you. And I'm so grateful for that cookbook you made me of the "Bonga's Best." I will treasure it always.
5. Don't worry about what others think about you. I love that you wore Birkenstock clogs before they were cool, or did yard work in your stretch pants, and wore a nose plug to open swim. I love that you wore a bikini and laid out in the sun when it was barely warm, because you loved to and I love that you took piano lessons as an adult, and didn't worry about what others might think of you. I think we could all use a lesson about that.
6. Play with your kids. Another lesson I need to take to heart. I know you didn't always have time with a full time job, but I remember many times that you came out to play kickball with us. I remember coaching soccer with you in high school and playing soccer with you in college. You went on bike trips with Kendra and David and always encouraged us to be active.
7. Love your husband. I think that this lesson I learned equally from you and Dad, but I always felt secure in knowing that you loved each other. I only remember 2 disagreements between the two of you and they were such rare occasions, that they stuck in my memory. I remember you both being very affectionate when greeting one another, and no matter how much you hated watching tv, you often would take some time to sit and snuggle with him in front of it, just to spend time with him.
8. Have some discipline. Although you were a carefree spirit, you realized a need for balance and order. Saturdays we cleaned the entire house. You exersized regularly but also took time to sit and relax-drinking your coffee on the porch each afternoon. Although there was always flexibility with this rhythm, discipline was important for a happy home.
9. We are not exclusive. I remember your friends came in every color and race and so did ours. I don't remember noticing a difference until having a conversation with friends at church who could count the number of nonwhite kids in their school on two hands. I remember having a conversation with you as you were ironing, about my friend that I had grown up with, who had announced he was gay, and how you said that if we had been that way, you would love us the same. I remember how our home was always open to anyone and became a home for many outside of our biological bonds. You taught us to see people as people and nothing else.
10. Life is short, so live well. This is the hardest lesson you've taught me, and I'm not sure I've grasped the live well part yet. I have spent too much time over the past 10 years worrying about the expiration date of our time on earth and not enough time living the life. I have learned from those you confided in, that you always suspected you'd die at a young age, and yet I never suspected you had those thoughts. Some people say there is a reason for everything, perhaps there is truth in that. I think there could have been great reasons for your life to continue, many people may have gained faith or kept their faith, but that was not the way things worked out. Through your death, I learned a great lesson in loss, and I am grateful for who I am now You lived life well and I am thankful for the example you made and the legacy you left.
I love you mom.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The transition continues
It's been a few months since my last post. In the last 2 months we traveled 4,000 miles to see family and friends in Michigan and Oklahoma, JJ was deployed to assist in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting, we've fostered 2 dogs, and have endured the unexpected cold of northern Arizona. JJ spent a whirlwind weekend adventuring in Mexico on his motorcycle and has returned for the second semester of his doctoral program. The kids and I are now preparing to go on our own adventure, this time to Michigan for a Gunson wedding, then continuing on to Virginia to visit with friends and meet the newest member of the Skipper family and finally through North Carolina to visit with my sister in-law and nephews before the return trip to Arizona. All in all we will be 3 miles short of 5,000 when we return, if you don't count any driving we do in each of our destinations.
I'll be honest, life in Kayenta hasn't been easy. True, it is an adventure and there are beautiful places to explore here, but the unexpected, frigid temps of the winter, combined with the shortened days and the lack of friends to share the times with have been tough. We knew, going into this that it would be a difficult transition and possibly difficult couple of years, but no matter how you prepare yourself for reality, it's always different than you ever imagined.
Each time we have moved, I have had to relearn the lesson that life isn't about me being happy. I do pray that my children are happy, and will have great memories of their childhood, but I often have to remind myself, that it is not what each "home town" has to offer me, rather what do I have to offer each new "home". It is a difficult lesson. I know that once I begin to involve myself in a meaningful way, I will feel more at home.
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