Friday, October 12, 2018

Traditions
















Hands gripped tightly

Tied together,
Refusing to relent
In the letting go.
Fear of loss superseded
The hope of what might be gained.
Belief in the foundation of
Old ties defined one's identity.

It is all I ever stood 
Upon til He came.
It served me well enough
As long as I could
Muster the strength.
Nevertheless,
Every time I took a step
Toward the goal
Of perfection, my feet
Sank deeper into 
A muck of duress.

Nonetheless...
Heart and soul between
Spirit and the eyes,
Longing unforgotten love,
I convinced my psyche
The possibility of two masters.
I knew one saw me 
As weak, but perhaps I could be
Approved work if I just 
Tried to

Obey the customs dictated
On my birth and my future -
On my femininity and my past -
On my abilities 
(Or lack thereof).
Upon all that I am hadn't
It all been already revealed?

I groveled before
The expectations
Like a novel that perpetuates;
A desire proving a lack
In satisfaction.
I found the more I fought,
The windier my mind would twist.
I sought freedom.
Truth was
My soul was bound.

I could no longer compete
In the traditions of this world.
The standards determined
I could not complete.
And yet...
Within my stubborn stupor,
A voice spoke boldly,
"Quit your striving!"

Proceeding to cut me
Before I advocated
The defense of my efforts,
He succeeded to initiate
A new covenant fulfilled
No longer determined
By my doing.
"Enough blood has been shed.
Enough tears have been wept,"
This One said, "Come to Me."

I have since wrestled,
Moreover, I follow wholly.
Into a rest I could not create,
The Cross and Nails paved
The supplication demanded.
Traditions satisfied
For the supremacy of Jesus Christ
Fulfilled the justification of heaven
And forsook the law
Of the grave.




Monday, September 24, 2018

Constant

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid...For in time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion; in the secret place of His tabernacle He shall hide me; He shall set me high upon a rock...When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me... I would have lost heart unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait on the Lord; be of good courage.  And He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!"         -Psalm 27:1, 5, 10, 13-14

"...But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."    -Proverbs 18:24


A gift received shall
Be given; an answered prayer
I must let go.
Nets that carried the weight 
Of my heart have snapped
Leaving me falling.
Anxiousness appearing,
Panic rises as I wonder
Who will hold me now?
Everyone else has walked away;
God, why am I left again?

I realize it's not
Out of need, but of want.
These selfish tears grasp
Twine that burns 
Turning a blessing into an idol.
A Chisel digs into the hidden places
Of my psyche and emotion, revealing
For the future to mirror the past.
But it is not so.
My heart pained from a Fire 
Meant to refine, but I worry
Who shall now be my confident confidant?

God, I admit I need a Friend
Who will stick closer than a brother.
I need an assurance
I will be loved beyond all measure;
Carried through the thickest of flames;
Valued when all the worthless things
In me are exposed.  I need
A strength that moves in the midst of my weakness;
A constant that won't abandon
At the sight of my sin.  I yearn
To be a joy; to be wanted.
Never silenced; never alone.
I long for a faithfulness more trusted
Than the expectation of a sunrise or a new season.

You formed the universe
And saw my face as You knitted
Eve from Adam's rib.
As a child, You drew me in.
As a woman, I must become as a babe
Wholly dependent on the Father
Who ransomed me to become His own.
Such a price!  And yet, never once
Have You let go of my hand.
You delight in me.
You are the constant I AM.
Your arms envelope my entire being
So that when I fall, I fall deeper into You.

Friday, August 17, 2018

Handicapped

I am handicapped by my strength.
I am crippled by my sense of independence.
I am chained by my pride.
Tight-fisted and clenched
I grasp for my own worth and righteousness.
Portrayal becomes betrayal, however,
For what is seen is not what is.
Unable to see the Truth inside
Because I listen to the lies spoken over.
I laugh too loud, for I know
What it means to cry alone.
The limp I live with
Is worth more than my word.  


I strive for the definition
I long to give myself.  In my life,
I refuse to fully trust You, Jesus,
Because I refuse to admit
My weakness.
Fear consumes the mind where new expectations are revealed;
I wrestle to act, when for so long, I’ve been told I can’t.
And yet... I can’t…
But You can…

In the effort to avenge my identity,
I placed myself as master, and forgot
To worship I AM as Lord.
Forgive me, God, and let me sit at the altar.
How is it in the resting, You prove Yourself mighty?!
The wanted strength obtained
Only by leaning into Him who created me.
For I am finding
There are mountains too high for me to climb;
There are journeys too long for me to take;
There are paths I become too unsure in following.


All this time I claimed You as my desire.
Nevertheless, all this time, I submitted
To the point before relenting control beyond my hold.
But these storms surround me...Yet You hold them all in Your hand.
These chains that have bound me, will You break?
God, I need You.  I am weak.
This cell is no longer my home.
Change my normal; transform my mind
To fit the Glory of heaven.  





Saturday, August 11, 2018

Questions in the Face of a Seemingly Dashed Vision


     Last Sunday, a student from when I subbed in my first year in Browning, committed suicide.  She was only about 16 or 17…she would’ve been a junior in high school.  I feel old, though I’m only 28 years old.  Not because I’m almost 30, but because there are too many people in my community who are being laid into a grave before they reach the age of 25 years. 
     A child dying is one thing.  The matter that she took her life is another.  I am not angry at her.  I hurt for her and her family and friends.  But I am angry at the one who keeps coming to steal, kill, and destroy the individuals in my community.  With every funeral I attend, the more I wish I could grip a sword and cut him down once and for all.
     Yet, Jesus already did that on the cross.  So, then I get this thought in my head… “What if we asked Jesus to raise her from the dead?”  It happened in the Bible, and I know that God is the same yesterday, today and forever (see Hebrews 13:8), so why couldn’t it happen now?  I wonder why I don’t hear Christians ask for this.  We pray for miraculous healings, but when somebody dies, our first response is figuring out how to comfort the family, rather than the possibility that the person could live again.  Do we believe that this could be a possibility; if so, why aren’t we asking?  Or have we become acquainted with death too well?
     And yet, I ask these questions, but I need to see if I am just being stubborn.  It is not well with my soul that she has passed.  At the word of a tragedy, am I refusing to accept it?  With her death, I feel as if it is another situation where the devil gets another laugh.  It’s as if another battle he won (though I know Jesus already won the war).
    
Perhaps that is the real fight I am dealing with in my heart.  In June, the eve before IYC, I had a vision of dead things being taken out of the students, and then the dead things being taken out of our community.  One of my youth has been praying for the spirit of suicide to end.   And then this happens.  A slap in the face in the vision that God has spoken and declared.


     Nevertheless, I must hold onto the truth that when God says something, He is sure to follow.  Even if I don’t see it at the moment.  Jesus is still true, even when the devil attempts to make Him out into a liar.  I know that I am facing this battle right now.  “Hold on, because the vision is for an appointed time (Habakkuk 2:2-3).”  What I am struggling with is wishing the appointed time was now.  Perhaps all I should be praying for is a peace and hope that will surpass all understanding in this situation.
     And yet, I still wonder…if I were to speak to this student’s body to rise, would God honor that?
     I have a lot of questions, and I am nervous to wait for the answer.  But I will hold onto what I read this morning in Jeremiah 31.

          “The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness – Israel, when I went to give him rest.  The Lord has appeared of old [from afar] saying, ‘Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore with a lovingkindness I have drawn you…They shall come with weeping, and with supplications I will lead them.  I will cause them to walk by rivers of waters, in a straight way in which will not stumble; for I am a Father to Israel…Then shall the virgin rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old, together; for I will turn their mourning to joy, will comfort them, and make them rejoice rather than sorrow…For I have satiated [fully satisfied] the weary soul, and I have replenished every sorrowful soul.”                                                -Jeremiah 31:2-3, 9, 13, 25

Monday, July 30, 2018

Repent and Heal Our Land: A Reflection on Resentment and Racism


     I just finished my last blog post (please do take time to read it to understand the full picture; it can be found at  http://honesttogodletters.blogspot.com/2018/07/beauty-on-rez-reflection-on-addressing.html), when I realized that it wasn’t the full story.  I didn’t share it with anyone, because I realized though it’s intention was to educate white folks/those growing up off the Rez, it may in turn, stir up old hurting sentiments for Natives. In an effort to stand up for my friends and new family, I may have undermined creating unity, by carrying the offenses from 200 years ago. If there is another thing I have grasped since my time living on the Blackfeet Rez, it is the fact that the judgments have gone both ways; the prejudicial hesitations and negative expectations and stereotypes to the “other” group is not one sided. 

     This post might offend.  However, maybe that’s what’s needed.  Surely, the offenses are real, but how one reacts must also be addressed.  So, with that, here are my thoughts…  I don’t mean to blame anyone.  I don’t mean to justify anyone, either.  I mean to bring to light a new concern after the sins of our great-great-great grandfathers’ generation poured out a demise.
         There has been a personal hurt, as well as general.  I feel very uncomfortable in an all, or majority, white area.  I know that I can blend right in with whites, because I am, obviously white.  And yet, going back to my hometown, I sit up stiffened and anxious about what kinds of questions I may be asked for living on the Rez.  I expect people to ask questions that are bent toward a negative stereotype of Natives.  I expect people to make jokes about Natives still living in teepees, and to laugh at their slang and accents.  I have been told that it’s pretty amazing to live on the Blackfeet Rez, because someone wouldn’t dare step foot in the capital of Browning.  There was a question in the congratulations of me getting a job on the Rez when I first moved here.  I have been told that I should stop talking Indian…and yet, they love telling other folks how I, their family, is turning Indian.
     Honestly, it hurts.  A lot.  How can people – the ones I am speaking of are called Christians – think so negatively of people they have never met?  And yet, in the process of me living here, I have become fully aware of the racist remarks and negative stereotyping.  I was always taught by my parents that race is just a color, and so racism is something I despise deeply. Martin Luther King, Jr. was my hero growing up, so that underlines something.  I despise racism to the point that I always prepare for the sly comments that may come.  I am tempted to not go visit family and friends back in Missoula, because I don’t want to hear it.  It hurts too much what has been said.  And yet, these friends and family, even strangers, I have dubbed to be “the enemy”.
     This is where I have taken the wrong turn.  The Bible says that we don’t war with flesh and blood (see 2 Corinthians 10:3; Ephesians 6:12).  The true enemy is Satan and his hordes of demons.  In the process of trying to protect the wounds of one group, the other has projected their own attack and only defined anyone ‘fair complected’ as arrogant and racist…It’s affective as well.  The racist comments from whites are brought into full view.  Furthermore, education of the Boarding School era can sometimes go beyond a sense of teaching, but many white folks feel like they are being blamed for what happened so many decades ago. 
     Within my first year of teaching here, I was told a handful of times that I was the one who took land from Natives.  My thoughts shouted back in defense, “I must look good for 200 years old, hunh?”  I have been told to go back to where I come from, and I then wondered, “Do you mean Missoula?  Colorado?”  After all, that’s where I grew up, and where I was born.  If they meant my European ‘native’ lands – where?  None of the nations where I descended from would claim me as theirs, because I was not born there, nor am I a citizen.  Yes, I have felt those attacks, as well. 
     However, in all this mess, and an onslaught of seeing a new perspective of all that I grew up to know the Industrial Revolution, I internalized the guilt of the past, and mixed it with my disdain of racism.  One afternoon, I was walking and thinking about the Boarding School era and was becoming guilt-ridden over the fact of what happened.  It was sickening.  But then, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper to me, “[If you married a Native] and had a white child, would you be okay with that?  What if your husband wanted a child that looked like their mother?”  I wanted to say, “Yes, that would be okay,” but I knew the truth was the opposite.  I was ashamed of my skin color.  So, I had hated the racism and picked up the offenses of my community in order to prove that I am not repeating the sins of my great-great-great grandfather’s generation committed over 200 years ago. 
     And yet, God has told me that the shame is not mine to bear (though, indeed it is my responsibility to learn about the past).  Furthermore, for any whites who happen to have a bent of racism, I must forgive them.  Both sides, ultimately, are guilty of pointing the finger at the other party.  The irony is that each side has a part of the whole story, but in their defense, refuse to listen and make peace.    In summary:

What Natives are Tired of:  People only thinking of the negative when thinking about their people and the place they live.  They are tired of feeling like they have to prove themselves.  They are tired of being made fun of, and being only seen for the past, and not their present and future.  They are tired of being a forgotten people.
What Whites are Tired of: Having to feel like it’s their (i.e. the present generations) fault for what happened in the past and having to seemingly pay for it in some way. 
Where They Went Wrong:  Expecting that every white individual is racist, and only sees the negative.  Becoming resentful and harboring the past offenses toward the present and future generations.  Becoming defensive and pointing at the other party’s offense.
Where They Went Wrong:  Only pointing out the negative, or never mentioning Natives, aside from the past. Thinking and looking down on reservations and Native people.  Becoming defensive and pointing at the other party’s offense. 

     The truth is – what happened happened.  Was it okay?  Never!  Even Germany has made it illegal to deny the Holocaust of the Jews – we should also admit what happened and learn from it.  But the purpose in learning is to make the future better.  We must break the cycle somehow, and up to this point, we have continued it.  Maybe the American genocide is no longer happening, but the resentment and hatred has continued to be fueled.  I believe that both parties have things to repent for: racism and resentment.  Both these two sins can be found in both “groups”, by the way.  Secondly, we must forgive the other party.  If Jesus forgave us (individually), then He is willing to forgive those who have hurt us.  We must too.  Lastly, we need to ask the Holy Spirit where we’ve been harboring feelings of resentment and becoming defensive, as well as looking negatively at another group, solely based on the color of their skin.  We need to ask Him to renew our thoughts and actions, whether if the offensive person passes us or not.
     I find a beautiful paradox that in the midst of the bitter actions that occurred in the 1820s-1980s, God could bring two racially different groups together as family.  Who would’ve thunk that Natives and whites can go for a hike, laugh, hangout at a fire pit and make memories together?  Who could’ve imagined that I would have siblings and family, nephews and nieces – of a different tribe?  Who would’ve known that whites and Natives could pray and praise the same God, for the restoration, salvation and healing of our community (notice the term of togetherness).  You see, in Christ, we are no longer two racial groups, but rather one family. It is the devil who seeks to destroy, dissuade, and divide.  Let’s not – especially as Christians - fall for his schemes.   Rather, let us band together: throw off the things that are meant to entangle us into a cyclical bondage that we are suddenly blinded and cannot remove.  Let us remember that in heaven, there is one God of many nations worshipping together.  Until that day, may we seek one another’s benefit and assistance.  It’s time that we live as brothers.
v  
[My own reflection and prayer on this essay]
     Daddy God, in defense for my Native loved ones, I’ve become resentful toward racist whites.  I have subsequently clumped all whites to be racist, and thus, have practiced a form of racism myself.  It has turned into even hating myself and not seeing how You want to use me on a Reservation.  All of this is not right.  To pre-judge anyone’s thoughts before they open their mouth isn’t right, and surely, I hate having it done to me.  God, I am sorry.  I know it is okay to have a righteous indignation, but it’s not okay to let it turn into hate.  Help me to love anyone who is racist, and only seeing the negative in another group (no matter the offending party or who the hate is targeted towards).  God, give me the heart You have.  Help me to see that they are believing a lie and give me the grace to speak the truth – in love.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.


                                                             

Saturday, July 7, 2018

Beauty on the Rez: A Reflection on Addressing Stereotypes and Changing Mindsets


     I’m sitting here wanting to write what’s on my heart, but so many emotions are riddling my mind that I had not yet put to paper what I have needed to say, until now.  I admit that in a love for my people makes me protective to the point that I am prone to hate those who hate.  So how do I educate, speak on my community’s behalf without vengeance seething within me?  Prayerfully.  Patiently.  Recognizing where I can easily try to right things by making a wrong move (or statement), and yet, giving my heart and its cries to God. 
     When people inquire what it’s like to live on the Rez aka an Indian Reservation, they often ask questions such as, “So, is there alcoholism?  Are drugs an issue?  Is your community impoverished?  Do people gamble?”  I don’t get questions like, “Do they still live in teepees?”  Most people seem to understand that we all live in the 21st century.  I was asked that only once…apparently, they were trying to be humorous.  (Yeah, not funny.)  But back to the original questions.
     Ever since living on the Rez – which will be four years as of this August – I have known what the stereotype is of First Nations people, but I am asked in such a way that only confirms what ideas people already have in their heads.  Because truth is, yes.  Poverty is prevalent; both alcoholism and drugs are social concerns.  Yes, we have a casino.  People are afraid to stay in Browning.  They mark it as “dangerous”.  And yet…this is my home, and this is my community.  I really don’t know how to answer these questions.  I try to do so politely, and yet honestly.  However, truthfully, because of the implication and intention of the question, I believe that the whole truth isn’t given room to be shared.  I guess this blog is my way of doing that. 
     If I could say what really goes on in my head when I have these stereotypical questions asked, a lot more would be said than just to suit outsiders’ minds.  First and foremost, I would reply with my own question: “Doesn’t your town have the same issues, though?”  Because if anyone wants to point out the alcoholism – point at my (biological) family first.  I, a white person, know that there has been a generational curse of addictions.  My dad was an alcoholic for 30 years before giving his life to the Lord and giving it up.  He has been 22 years sober.  Drugs?  Missoula – my hometown – not Browning, is the meth capital of Montana.  The opioid epidemic is an epidemic not only on reservations, but across the whole United States.  Casinos?  How many does Missoula, or any other city have?  More than one. 
     The irony of these questions is that they focus on ratio rather than the presence of…we call them social concerns, God calls it sin.  We pick certain cities, towns, areas, and groups of people with a higher ratio of a presence of sin, and then we think ourselves in the least blessed, at most better than the “others”.  We look at Las Vegas, Reno – call it “Sin City” and talk about how they need Jesus.  But what about us?
    Tell me if I am wrong.  I would love to be. 
    The reality of these concerns is that they can, and are, found in every state.  They aren’t just Rez issues.  They are all of man’s concern, because the roots have been laced throughout every tribe on this planet, and it is called sin.  Maybe the ratio isn’t the same.  I’ll give you that.  Your city might have great programs that support people fairly well.  However, in the paradox of these questions, I find it interesting that God isn’t really interested in ratios.
     We, as humans, like to determine someone’s goodness by how much good is in them.  Or vice versa.  They are bad, because they have done this much bad stuff.  But God doesn’t weigh sin.  He only asks if it is present.  In Isaiah 64:6 (AMPC), it says, “For we have all become like one who is unclean [ceremonially, like a leper], and all our righteousness (our best deeds of rightness and justice) is like filthy rags or a polluted garment; we all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away [far from God's favor, hurrying us toward destruction].”  When the woman was caught in adultery, He said for those without any sin could cast stones (John 8:1-7).  James tells us that if we are guilty of breaking one of God’s commandments, he or she is guilty of them all (James 2:10).
     Does sin, no matter where it is found need to be repented of?  Yes.  But is this the full story?  No.  There is a greater poverty than the physical stature of a home and an inability to provide for simple needs.  There is a greater wealth than how many zeroes can be written on a check.  The answer to both is whether or not one has Jesus in their lives. 
     Yes, there has been death.  But there is also life.  There has been destruction, but there is also restoration.  There has been brokenness, but there is also healing.  There has been heartache, but there is also joy.  There have been tears, but there is laughter.  There has been despair, but there is also hope.  There has been a grave, but there is also a Resurrection.  And so, as we wait for it’s fulfillment, we hold onto the glimpses of the beauty here on the Rez.
          The Land.
     Just take the time to walk around the meadows and mountains, and it’s clear to see what a creative God we serve.  The flowers, grass, sky, and animals speak splendor and it’s so wonderful to be surrounded by it.  In my moments where I need to run away to find a personal refuge and hear God’s voice clearly, I immediately run to a meadow and walking trail by the high school.  To be surrounded by all that He has made, stripped of all the distractions, reminds me how God is so big to paint the vast sunsets, but is so delicate to fine-tune the details in the littlest flowers.  If He is able to carry so great the earth, and mold the smallest ant, can He not care for me.  There is a stillness and a rest when I sit in the midst of its beauty.  The land here reminds me the majesty of the God I serve.
          The Culture.
     “Oki, nistanikoo…”  When someone may say this, they are greeting you.  It had been shoved and covered; children were forced to leave their heritage behind, but it’s making a comeback.  God made each tribe with its own individual characteristics, and it’s remarkable to hear the language and to see other aspects of the culture, such as the dances still thriving.  We have an immersion school, so students can learn entirely in Blackfeet, up until the 8th grade.  Not every student attend, but it’s a great step in encouraging kids to remember who they are, as a family, and as a people. Every year, we have pow-wows in which children on up to the elders dance a variety.   There is a beautiful history of how they lived and traveled long ago.  The artwork that many of the artists fashion shows such a wonderful attention to detail and a mix of traditional concepts (i.e. beading) mixed with a modern style.  Of course, there is always more for me to learn, but I enjoy learning it.  It has been a personal blessing to be able to photograph a people who are now rising out from ashes of years of abuse and are growing to learn to know what it means to be Blackfeet.  
          The People.
     When it really comes down to it, it’s the people I live among that make this one of the best places to live. I will drive home from work, and there are kids laughing, playing, and smiling…just as any kid would do.  Sometimes people will ride their horses around just for the fun of it, and it gives a home touch. The Rez dogs are seriously the most friendly you'll ever meet in the whole US. It’s in the hug of a friend.  It’s in the warmth of having a meal with loved ones (give me some of that frybread, any day…jokes).  It’s in the caring for a loved one, and the boldness to visit them when you know that they may be struggling or rushing over and calling first thing in the morning after hearing amazing news.  It’s in the ability to laugh at situations, and to teasingly show our affection (note to visitors: if you are being teased, that’s a good thing.  It means we see you as a friend.).  It’s in the respect we have for elders.   It’s being able to find family among friends, and to have each other’s back.  It’s in the perseverance in the face of hardships and helping a neighbor no matter the cost.  It’s in the understanding that we are all in this together, and we will walk together, as one. 
     What makes the Rez?  It’s the people.  They are such a gift.  I knew growing up, that I was going to go into missions one day, but I never thought I would be going to a reservation.  However, seeing what God is already doing, witnessing the seeds that are being planted, and hearing the visions that people are having…I would not change a thing.  Because, just as much as God loves me, He loves the Blackfeet too.  Just as He ran after me, Jesus died on the cross for me, He died for them too.  Just as I was made in the image of God, so were the Blackfeet. 
     I get to call God a father…I call Him Daddy.  I want the Blackfeet to know Him like this as well. For so long, the portrayal of Jesus has been harsh, ultimate, and abusive.  But God loves people.  Sin separated us from Him, but He didn’t want us to die with it, so Jesus took that punishment.  I want the Blackfeet (and any Native tribe or group in America and all over the world) to know that truth.  I want them to know that they don’t have to earn salvation.  In fact, they can’t.  No one can.  Salvation is a gift, given by Creator God.
     Yes, our community is not perfect.  Yes, we have our social plights, and the questions addressed at the beginning of this blog is just a hint.  There has been abuse.  There has been rejection.  There are wounds so deeply embedded that it has been taking years to just start discussing them in an effort to bring wholeness.  Sure, there may be a long way to go.  Much to be done, but God is already moving.  It’s small.  Almost seems insignificant.  But with every rain drop, a lake can start forming. 
     Grassroot efforts have produced a voice to raise awareness and to encourage the change we long to see.  The people heading it up are folks who have been firsthand touched by the death that seems to slither here, and yet, in their lives, God has given them the grace to stomp on that snake’s head and raise up above the status quo here.  I have friends who have been abused, and yet now, they have joy that is visible to any passerby.  I have friends who were abandoned, but found family in Christ.  I have friends who had fathers or mothers leave them, and yet, with God’s help, are becoming fantastic parents to their own kids.  I know former drug addicts and those who have been in prison now spearheading political steps to make the lives of their children and grandchildren be more abundant and full than what they were able to have.  We have Blackfeet and nonnative teachers side by side, pouring into children, telling them they have a purpose, that there is hope and there is possibility for their futures.  The cycles are starting to turn.
     God has already begun to change.  Generation by generation.  Family by family.  House to house.  Yes, it seems small now.  But it’s just the start.  No bill or federal mandate can reverse what sins have corrupted this land.  (Look back at the 1920s, legislating morality does NOT work.)  But we have been making a stance and walking; praying that God would take back this land, make this people His people, and His name to be glorified.  What’s so amazing about this beauty is knowing that God has worked in peoples’ lives already, and thus I know He can work in the rest of our community.  If you are struggling with anything, I know He can and will do something in your life. 
     God has never abandoned the Blackfeet.  He never failed them.  Yes, they went through hell, but He had never turned His back on them.  Rather, when Jesus was on the cross, the Blackfeet (as well as all tribes around the world) were on His mind, because He wanted a relationship with them.  And as more people come to know Him, the wounds that were seeded over 200 years ago can start healing, and the renewing of the persons are forming.  So, we will keep walking and praying until the fruition comes.  There is a vision we have for these sleeping giants – and that is they would WAKE.  We continue to run with it, in hope, that the promise may not tarry (Habakkuk 2:2-3).