Coal

I’m going to get real, real fast today…

The Reservation is my home. I fully believe everything I’ve ever done, ever been was because God was ultimately preparing me for my life here. It’s strange to be in a place where I can go to a grand opening and be the only billigaana (white person) in attendance and still feel more at home than in a city filled with people who look like me. 

Today, we drove to town for groceries, hay and feed and some maintenance for the van. J wore his hair pulled up in a Navajo bun, I had on cowboy boots and Little Man runs around speaking Diné (Navajo)…what’s that got to do with anything? Well, this…

A Diné family saw us at lunch and the wife complimented my husband’s hair. In Target, Little Man asked me to hand him his new boots in Navajo and an elderly Navajo lady smiled so brightly, I thought I’d cry. You see, several decades ago, white men who wanted to conquer the West sent the grandmothers and grandfathers of many of my beautiful friends to places they called “reservations”. Yet, when they see my obviously white child speaking their language they smile and nod. When they see my husband’s hair bun, they compliment the tying job that my WHITE hands did. Historically, white people sent them to the hardest, most difficult places to live in the United States and they stuck it out. The Navajo became tough, they learned to work with what they were given, they stood firm on their roots as family and the persevered through decades of indifference, persecution and ridicule. And y’all, they SMILE as my child speaks. They love my children wholeheartedly. They don’t care that my girls have crystal blue eyes or that my boy has blonde hair. The Navajo have so much to teach this world. 

I was recently asked if I thought my kids were missing out by living here. My response was no. I don’t. They have learned so much about sacrifice, hard work, love, joy, laughter…the list is endless…and yet so often people look at our lives and see only the hardships. I, we, get to see the beautiful.

On our way home from town, we drive through a Rez town that is really the first on our way home. The last town with gas stations, a small grocery and a couple of fast food restaurants. Because of the winter storm this past week, many Natives haven’t been able to get out of their communities for things like wood and coal for their homes. As we drove through, we passed a gentleman selling bags of coal. The bed of his truck was half empty, he was using a mallet to bust up what was left and placing it into bags for the people in line. This isn’t uncommon to see on a Saturday during the winter. What was uncommon is that he was the only one selling this afternoon. Due to the lack of merchants, the line for coal was backed up through the abandoned parking lot and wrapped around to the entrance. When I saw the line, the amount of coal in his truck didn’t nearly equal enough and my heart sank. Here I was in my warm van, loaded with groceries and bottled water, as well as hay and feed for the sheep, and many of these people would go home to cold houses or hogans tonight because there wasn’t enough coal. 

Then I remembered the resilience of the Navajo. I remembered their magnificent, Heavenly Father and how he once fed 5,000 with a few fish and some bread and I began praying for those beautiful people I don’t even know…Jesus, give them a fishes and loaves miracle. Show them your works so they will come to know and love you.  I prayed because of my heavy heart and then I realized my heart was heavy because even though they have every reason not to trust my family, not to love my family, to be unkind-they continually show us grace and love. Even though many don’t know Jesus, they choose kindness. They choose to teach us their way of life and to do so in patience. 

I’m going to pray for a fishes and loaves miracle for those people not because of my heavy heart but out of gratitude for the things God has shown me through the incredible Navajo people. Will you join me?