A Little Taste of Heaven

     If you've ever been to a Hope Fellowship church service (or even one of the Tuesday night bible study meetings we had before we were officially a church) then you know that the majority of our church is under the age of twelve. So we set it up so that the children are divided into older girls, older boys, younger girls, and younger boys. (There are six groups total, two for the older kids and four for the younger kids since we tend to have more younger children). From sixth grade to the end of my sophomore year I led the group of older girls (3rd- 5th grade). I loved every second of it. I've mentioned in past blogs that, I've spent most of my time on the reservation (and therefore most of my life), being extremely bitter toward life and hateful toward God. I believed for so long that our time on the reservation would last only a short while. I believed that we would leave, that we would go back to Alabama and I would be able to have the life that I believed I should have. A life I thought I deserved. The Lord twisted my heart and I fell in love with the reservation. The love I had for the kids here was rivaled only by my selfish desire to return "home." I was torn between the life I had and the life I wanted. I still am. My love for the reservation didn't form in one place of with one person, it started at Harrah Elementary School, the White Swan Longhouse, and Totus Park. It took root in Darrion, Leandra, and Lenelle. The love I had for these kids was felt most strongly at bible study. When I was doing exactly what the Lord had called me to do. When I was sharing the gospel and watching hope spring into the faces of the children the Lord had used to change my heart. For five long years I came to the Longhouse to teach and show 3rd to 5th grade girls the truth and love of Christ. I watched them grow up and when it was time for my first group of third graders to go into youth group, I became a leader in the youth group in order to have a discipleship group with them when they were ready.

     When the time came for Ann Marie to go to college, Jade agreed to become the leader of the group of younger boys Re had been working with. When Beth went to college the following year, I became the leader of the younger girls group and Tionna became the leader of the older girls. There were a lot more younger girls than older girls and I had more experience as a group leader so it worked out well. So for the last two years I have been working with younger girls with Connie rather than older girls. The younger girls keep me on my toes as much as the older girls did, but in different ways. I love both groups equally, but I feel like I work best with the older girls. 

     For the last two weeks, Tionna hasn't been able to make it to Church, so I have led her group while Beth (who is back for the summer) has led the younger girls. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be with the older girls group. I'd known most of them since they were little, so I was as familiar to them as they were to me. Though there were a few I didn't know very well because they were new. The first week I led the older girls group, there were only five girls, but this last week there were eleven. The largest group of older girls we'd seen all summer. We filled an entire row of chairs. I was sandwiched between sissy and Lenelle. Lenelle has moved around a lot this summer, so she hasn't been at church more than two or three times. Sissy hasn't come at all. Lenelle fidgeted with the song sheets. Sissy traced her pointer finger along the song lyrics and sang at the top of her lungs in a tune all her own, but joyful nonetheless. Further down the row Elizabeth sat completely still, her eyes trained on Ann Marie as she led the songs. She wasn't singing, but she was paying full attention to everything that was happening. Whinnie was fighting to keep her eyes open. Jessica held the song sheet before her but didn't look at it, she already had the song memorized after all. Instead, she looked out the window, her eyes trained on the distant hills, her hand resting over her heart, her lungs bursting in song. Ashly squirmed and stifled little giggles as Kalani tickled her and pinched her ears. Marina kept her eyes on me, just as she had the week before. Of all the girls in the group, I knew her the least and what I did know about her came from the stories I had heard from the interns and staff members who had been at the Totus Park kids club that summer (I had been at Adam's View). I knew she was quiet, she didn't trust anyone, and she liked church. She was Ashly's cousin and was supposed to have only been in town for a short while, but she hadn't left all summer and it didn't look like she was going to. 

     When the kids transitioned to Children's Church, Sissy watched, Lenelle asked questions about anything and everything, Elizabeth played with her hair, Whinnie laid her head on the table, Jessica listened to Joshua and raised her hand with an answer to any question he asked about the story, Natalie copied Jessica, Tiana sat quietly and didn't raise her hand once though I was sure she knew all of the answers as well, Summer watched everyone around her and, as usual, I wondered what she was thinking about, Kalani messed with Ashly, Ashly messed with Kalani, and Marina listened intently to what Joshua had to say about the sick woman who touched Jesus' cloak and was healed. 

     After the story, we went into our classroom and talked about the story as they led the sick woman to Jesus in the maze, colored colored a picture of the story, or found key words from the story in a crossword. Together, the girls retold the story, one girl describing the main events while others added in the details that they remembered. They were sure to tell me these things:

"Jesus didn't have a magic shirt."

"He's not a magic man with magic powers. He gets his power from his dad."

"'cause his dad is God, you know."

"He liked the woman just like he liked the blind men last week."

"He likes them because he likes everyone." 

"He was busy but he still had time for them."

"He makes time for everyone."

The conversation didn't end, and I still don't know that it has. This is what I love about the older girls. we are at a stage in the ministry where the older girls we have now grew up in church, they are familiar with the fundamental facts about Christ. They know enough to crave more and when they're with each other, they discuss it freely, they develop their own opinions based on what they already know and believe to be true. They remind each other about last weeks story and the one before that, and what God did here, and how he helped someone there. They form their own questions and they aren't afraid to ask a leader or talk about it with each other. Together, these girls are discovering Christ. Their growing in their faith and making it their own, but at the same time, they are making this journey as a group. This is how church is supposed to be. We are all called to follow christ, but it is not a journey we have to make alone. This group of girls know more about how church is supposed to be at the age of nine than I do at the age of seventeen and to be able to work with them and help them process all that is happening and watch them learn to trust God is a little taste of heaven.

Bus Ride

     Every Tuesday night, I've always ridden on the vans/buses that we drive around to pick up our teenagers for Youth Group. I've been doing this for about three years and in the last year I switched from riding with Joshua to get teenagers in White Swan to riding with Jesse in order to get kids in Adam's View. All over the Rez, the home situations of the kids and youth are rough and Adam's view is no exception.
     About three weeks ago, Jesse and I stopped by the first house on our pick up list; a girl who we'll call Emily. Emily's next door neighbors have two teenagers who have come to Youth Group countless times so we pulled up a few feet and honked the horn.
     "Carmen and Jose can't come." Emily informed us.
     No one came out of the house to say otherwise, so we kept going. It's not uncommon for the guardians of the kids to keep them from coming to Youth Group. Its punishment, not being allowed to come to church. If they take away the kid's favorite thing, maybe the kid will stop getting in fights, maybe the kid will listen to them, maybe the kid will get better grades, and then maybe the school will stop calling them with complaints.
     We ate dinner, played games, listened to Chuck teach the lesson, met in small groups to talk about the lesson and loaded back into the buses to take the kids home again. Emily, as always, was moving all around the bus socializing. Of course, she wasn't the only one. Most weeks my voice echos throughout the donated shuttle bus saying, "Sit down, DeShawn", "Theo keep your hands to yourself!", "Alize, you have to put your phone away!", "Brandon, watch your language!", "Everyone needs to quiet down!"People were quieter this week though, and attendance was low so things weren't quite so crazy. I gave Emily one last warning telling her she needed to stay in one seat and stop moving around so much. She plopped down next to me and finally quieted down.
     The bus was nearly silent, but only because anyone who had a phone was on it. They like to think that they can be tricky, but the glare from the screen, the hunched shoulders, and the rapidly tapping fingers kinda, sorta, definitely gives them away. I know I should tell them to put the phones away, but silence is well... golden. So I silently traded them a few minutes of phone time for a few more minutes of quiet. Emily stared at me and I had a feeling she was about to tattle about the phones, which is a bit of a habit of hers. I closed my eyes and hoped she thought I was asleep. The bus rattled on down the road, I clenched my teeth to keep from accidentally biting my tongue as we turned onto the bumpy gravel road. I glanced at Emily, she wasn't staring at me anymore. I closed my eyes again.
     Emily tapped my shoulder, "Morgan?"
     "Yep?"
     "I know why Carmen and Jose didn't come."
     My heart skipped and I sat up straight. Like any sixth grade girl, Emily isn't good at keeping information to herself especially information concerning someone else. The fact that she hadn't told me as soon as we'd picked her up for Youth Group meant it must be serious. Also, Carmen and Jose's home situation hasn't been great to say the least. The thing that topped it all off, though, was the fact that Emily was whispering... well, trying to whisper anyway. She never whispers.
     "It's Carmen. She wasn't at school either."
     "Is she out of town?" Lord, please let her just be out of town.
     Emily shook her head, "My mom saw her this morning. She was outside in her front yard and - you know how her stepdad is back now? Well he came outside and started yelling at her, telling her she can't be outside. She was explaining herself but he got more and more mad and he hit her. He hit her hard, Morgan. She fell to the ground and I think she was probably crying. Her mom watched from the doorways and kept Carmen's brothers behind her, trying to get them to stay inside so they wouldn't watch. Her stepdad yelled at her, he said she couldn't go to school now. Said he wouldn't let her go to school and snitch on him."
     I couldn't think of anything to say. What could I say? "Everything will be okay" felt like a cliche lie. "I'm sorry" couldn't possible suffice. I turned around, ready to tell the kids to turn off their phones, suddenly hating the bitter silence.
     The phones were already turned off. You could tell which kids had heard, they stared at the floor, the pain etched in their face. They could relate to Carmen.
     "I'm going to be praying for Carmen and her family." I said softly.
     Emily nodded.
     The bus doors opened to let one of the kids off at their house.

     We've gone by Carmen and Jose's house for the last three weeks. Every time, there are no kids to be seen. Every time, Emily reminds us that they've moved to Yakima, they're staying there with their aunt and uncle. Carmen has told me about her aunt and uncle in Yakima, they're nice to her. She's safe. 

     There are a lot of hard things about living on the Rez, but the hardest is seeing or hearing about a situation that's out of your hands. When you can't do anything but pray that the Lord will protect them and give you the faith to believe that He will.

Out of Trust

     My sisters, Ann Marie and Beth, have both recently gone to Covenant College in Georgia. Beth is entering the school as a freshman so this is her first year away. For years now Beth has been ministering to a family of three girls and their cousins (two more girls and one boy). The love Beth showed these children grew quickly and became even stronger when the three cousins moved away. The three who stayed in White Swan are Odessa (7), Sharyce (6), and Anjelica (4). 

     Beth's last summer here she tried to get the three to feel more comfortable with the other staff members, specifically my siblings and me, so that when she wasn't here, they would continue to look forward to coming to church and we would be able to look out for them until Beth could came back. Sharyce became more open than the others, but gradually Odessa and Anjelica became more comfortable with Ann Marie and Marisol as well. Of course Ann Marie also left for college, so that left Marisol as the only one that they were really comfortable with. However, with the end of the summer, the interns all left and Ann Marie and Beth went along with them, leaving those who stayed short-handed. We had to fill in for the gaps that had been left. We all had our hands tied and that included Marisol, so no one could have one on one time with a child nor could Marisol have on on three time with Beth's girls. The girls came to church only once after Beth left; they wanted Beth and only Beth. 

     A while back, we received a package from Beth addressed to her girls. My brother was on the van that went by their house to pick them up for church on Sundays and gave them the box sent by Beth. That was the night they came to church again.

     "I had to beg them to come, telling them over and over, 'Beth wants you to go!'" David told us.

     Yesterday we hosted a kid's club in Totus Park like we do during the summers. I rode on the bus with Veronica to pick up the kids who lived in White Swan, but not in Totus. This included Beth's girls. As they saw the bus pull into their driveway they started jumping up and down in their excitement. I hadn't seen them this cheerful since Beth left a month ago. 

    Sharyce led skipped into the bus, Anjelica and Odessa behind her. Sharyce gave me a hug and showed me her pink, flowered headband, "You see it, Morgan? Beth sent it to me! From her school!"

    Anjelica eyed me skeptically, "How tome you loot like Bet?" It's common for kids to say certain words weird or with a lisp, but the unique way Anjelica speaks is absolutely adorable... and usually extremely hard to understand. 

     "I look like her 'cause I'm her sister." I replied.

     "Her tister?"

     I nodded.

     "Can you hold me like Bet does, then?"

     In the two hours we spent at Kids Club, Anjelica never left my arms.

     I gave Anjelica no reason to trust me, she trusted me because I was Beth's sister. So it has been with this entire ministry. The adults, youth, and kids, all started coming because they trusted and loved someone who was associated with the ministry, whether it be a staff member, summer intern, or team member. This trust has grown into a love for the church. Others come as a result of the love shown in the indivuduals who trust us. So you see, this church is growing like a wildfire, with a spiderweb of relationships as it's heart. The love Christ shows others through us is strong enough to pass onto someone else who hasn't felt this love firsthand. That is how this church is growing. It started out as friendships, but those sprouted and branched out faster than anyone had ever hoped they would. When you break it down, you can see that the root of this church is trust. 

"What are you?"

Soon after moving to the reservation, I found myself in the public school as one of the only white kids at Harrah Elementary. Most of the kids were native though there were also many Mexican kids. Myra was one of the first people who was able to overlook the color of my skin and the twang in my speech and see me as someone who just needed a friend. I don't know what ever happened to Myra, she moved away after a while, but she was a comfort to me when I felt utterly abandoned. It's only now that I look back that I realize how blessed I was to have her as a friend.

This is a conversation I once had with Myra after being friends for quite some time. We were waiting in line at the cafeteria:

"What are you?" She asked, studying me from head to toe.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you?" She repeated, enunciating each word as if I had been unable to comprehend the question rather than unable to understand its meaning. She saw my confusion and pointed to herself, "I'm Mexican, you're...." She gestured to me as she waited for me to fill in the blank. 

I'd stared at her for some time, not sure what she wanted me to say, the answer was so obvious I wondered that she would ask me rather than just use her eyes, "...white." I'd answered. Surely she knew that, I've never been one to get a good tan and my pale skin made me stick out like a sore thumb then just as much as I do now. 

She wasn't satisfied, "No, really, what are you? You're not Mexican."

I shook my head in confirmation, " I'm not Mexican." 

"But you don't look full Native." 

I shook my head again, "I'm not Native."

"Yeah, not full. What else are you?"

"I'm white."

"Native and white?"

"No, just white."

Myra, sassy as she was, made a clicking sound by snapping her tongue off the roof of her mouth, "Morgaaaan!" Her tone made it clear she thought I was teasing her.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You're not white, you don't act it."

"I'm... Alabamian?" I'd shrug.

She'd laugh when I said that and I'd laugh too even though I didn't get the joke. I still don't. Was it the southern accent that made it sound funny? I'll never know.

I don't find the story funny because Myra thought I was Native nor is it funny because she thought I was lying when I persisted in saying that I was white. It's funny because today, I'm the one asking the question. It's funny because today, I'm the one who doesn't feel white. It's funny because, ten years later, I'm the one asking, "what am I?"  

"Whatever my God ordains is right."

      I lived in Birmingham, Alabama until I was six years old at which point my family moved to be missionaries on the Yakama Indian Reservation in Washington state. Now, the first thing most people say when they find out how young I was when we moved is, “Oh, so you must not remember anything about Alabama anyway.” Unless of course, that person knows me very well to which they say something along the lines of. “I’m sure you remember more than most people would expect.” The truth is, I’m in between the two assumptions as far as my memories are concerned. It’s the expectations I had, the vision for my future that I felt God had pulled out of my reach.

       Naturally, I’ve changed a lot since I was six years old, but I’m told (by family members and friends who have known me long enough to know) that these things remain the same: I’m independent, I analyze anything and everything, and I’m serious, but not to the point of having no sense of humor. Though these all seem like good character traits, I have taken some of them to extremes and turned them rotten. I was like this as a kid and I’m like this now. All this said to at least make some sense of the fact that, by six years old, I was sure of what I wanted for myself. I had a plan for my life and believed God couldn’t have any reason to change it. I was six, so of course this plan wasn’t incredibly detailed, but these things I knew for sure: I wanted to live in Alabama forever, I wanted to write a big book, and I wanted to get married and live happily ever after. And who’s to say the latter two of the three of those things could happen in Washington? And who’s to say they would in Alabama? There was more to my little plan though, something I hadn’t really put much thought into because I’d assumed it was a given. This assumption was that my family would remain exactly as it had been up to that point. That everyone I loved would always be close by. As a six-year-old, you believe that you really are one big happy family; every conflict, every stressful detail flies high above your head. Six-year-old Morgan Granberry was determined to live a fairy tale. Not only did I think I was in control of my future, but I also thought I’d be able to duck and weave my way through hardship and pain. That was where my goal became an unrealistic dream. Yet, when I was older, and realized there was no way to avoid sorrow, I still longed for that future I could’ve had. Not because still living there would be what I wanted when I was little, but because it would be easier than what my life had become. Isn’t that humans for you: always wanting what’s easy. God has planned out each of our lives ahead of time though, and He doesn’t give us what is easy, He gives us what is good.

      We moved to Washington and for a while I still clung to those expectations, believing that we would only be on the Reservation a little while before moving back and we would pick up where we left off. Eventually it became clear that we weren’t moving back anytime soon, so I decided I would simply go back to Alabama for college and not come back to the Rez. Here’s the thing though: My parents put my three siblings and me into the public school. That wasn’t easy to say the least. Imagine what would happen if you were some of the only white kids in a public elementary school on an Indian reservation. Now top us of by adding thick southern accents. My oldest sister came home with a black eye on the very first day simply for “talking funny.” I have two older sisters and one younger brother. All three of my siblings had violent classes. My sisters were taken out of the school to be homeschooled after two rough years in the system. It wasn’t so much the violence in my grade that was a problem as much as it was the language. I didn’t know any swear words going into the school much less what any of them meant, but I did by the end of first grade. The kids loved to have information that was beyond anything a second grader should know and they loved to share it too, so I knew exactly how so-and-so had ended up with a new baby half-sister, which was far worse than knowing the definitions to a bunch of swear words. Of course, it wasn’t all bad though. I made friends and I learned to blend in (as much as a white girl could). In fact my best friend to this day is Marisol Romero who I met in second grade. Relationships were built and that’s what went wrong with my master plan to move away as soon as I could.

      Once a year we take a trip back to Alabama. It’s a plunge into “would haves”, “could haves”, and “should haves”. It’s ridiculously overwhelming. Anyone I would remember, aside from family members, doesn’t remember me. My family, who used to all be in one area, is now spread out mostly in the southeast. Everyone has moved and everyone has changed. Of course I ended up expecting it, but the reality is more bitter than the expectation. I’m not trying to say that all change is bad, but it’s not my favorite thing in the world.

      I was in sixth grade when it finally clicked that God had shut the door to Alabama. It wasn’t the changes in Alabama that made it click, it was the relationships I had on the Rez. I was torn and am torn between two places I will never call home. I’m torn between people who are my family and people I call my family. It wasn’t the changes in Alabama it was the changes in me. The Lord stuck the Yakama people in my heart, never to be removed. You’d think my stubbornness had ended, but it hadn’t. You’d think my heart had been softened, but it hardened. I was furious with God. I blamed him for everything while I should have been thanking Him. Blessed as I am to live on the Rez and know I’m where God wants me, it’s a hard bite to swallow. There is no end to the pain and suffering in this community. I couldn’t stand it. I can bear it now only because I truly trust that God is our deliverer and healer. Though I said I did, though I had even myself convinced, I didn’t truly believe it then.

       Growing up in a Christian home there are a lot of biblical facts you memorize, you can give anyone the right answer and always be ready to illustrate an illusion of Christianity. It’s deceiving and you fool yourself until God throws a curveball and you fall to the dust in tears, gathering your idols near, and crying out with the selfish anger of a toddler, “Why, God, why? What did I do?” Pitiful isn’t it? Well that was me in full force from sixth grade to the beginning of my eighth grade year. Not to say that I was nice and dandy in eighth grade, I’m still trying to pull myself together. Trying, but of course I’m the one who made a mess of me in the first place. No, my efforts aren’t getting me anywhere; they never have and they never will, but I keep trying like Sisyphus and his boulder. Except Sisyphus couldn’t stop even though he wanted to and at least he got close to his goal each time. I on the other hand, have chained myself to my boulder and get no further than the starting line. So if my efforts failed, what was it that got me back on the right track? Well, as much as I wish I could pinpoint it to one major event, I can’t. The Lord gradually changed my heart and I fought against him all the while. Why do I associate my turn for the worst with my sixth grade year? I started a new school.

       My parents pulled me out of the public school system after my fourth grade year. I had come to like the public school a lot and I was sad to leave, but the education wouldn’t get me far in the long run. I was homeschooled for fifth grade. From sixth to eighth grade I went to a private school in Issaquah, Washington, about three hours away from where we lived in Wapato. The school was Covenant Christian Middle School (CCMS) and classes were only on Mondays and Tuesdays then we took extra work with us to finish during the rest of the week. We drove half way to Issaquah Sunday nights and met whoever had volunteered (either from the church or the school) to drive us the rest of the way. On Tuesdays after school another volunteer would drive us all the way back. At the time my family had a Tuesday night Bible study in the community to which there was never a small turnout and was probably 90% children who came without adults. More on that later. The culture of the Rez and the overall culture of the families of CCMS were polar opposites. The switch back and forth each week provided a culture clash strong enough to make you sick to your stomach. No one at the school had been to the Rez and it’s not something easily explained much less understood, not that many people actually asked.

      The school had an average of twenty-two students each year from sixth grade to eighth grade, so everyone knew everyone. I didn’t even try to like it my first year. My sisters, Marisol and Beth, also went with me to the school. Beth’s last year was my first and Ann Marie, the oldest sister, had graduated the year before. Our younger brother, David, would come into the school the following year. Marisol was taken out of the public school and homeschooled with us at her mom’s request and has had the same school schedule as I have ever since.

      Anyone who knows Marisol (and Marisol herself) would agree that she is extremely social. So she felt comfortable enough to jump right in and make friends with everyone. I stuck close to Beth. I realize I’m painting a picture of my twelve-year-old that gives the impression that I must have been the spitting image of Mary from “The Secret Garden”, but that’s not really how it was. I realize now the faults in what was my view of life, but at the time I thought, of course, that I was perfectly fine. I was also very good at the “Smile and wave” (from the movie “Madagascar”) so I didn’t look as pitiful as I was. Like I said, my sixth grade year was Beth’s last, so in seventh grade I didn’t have anyone to cling to. About half way through the year though I realized that was sick and tired of being gloomy. Marisol got along great with everyone especially the girls at the school. I on the other hand, had one friend named Garrett, who was also a good friend of my brother’s. So Garrett, David, and I were able to make the best of my eighth grade year which, to this day, is still one of the best years of my life.

     So in sixth grade I hit rock bottom, in seventh grade I realized it, and in eighth grade I finally decided to let God pull me out of the pit I’d dug. If you think I’m saying that it was a sudden plummet to the ground and a rocket ride right back out of it, then I’ve gone about explaining this all wrong. It was a spiral downward from the move to the Rez in 2003 and God isn’t done with me yet, I’m still recovering and I’ve definitely given myself more bumps in the road. Also, though CCMS had something to do with the turn of events, the Rez had even more to do with it and of course God had everything to do with it.

  

       I guess I’d better explain our family’s ministry before going much further, so here’s the long story short…ish:

       In Alabama my dad was the youth pastor at Oak Mountain Presbyterian Church. In 2000 he ended up taking his youth group to White Swan, Washington; the “heart” of the reservation. I want to go into the experiences he had there, but I said I’d sum this up so I’ll talk about those more later. He came home and couldn’t forget the Rez, not that he wanted to, but he felt, as he says, “haunted” by what he saw. He couldn’t shake the feeling. When he realized the Lord was calling us (not just him, but us) to move to the Rez, he was terrified. All four of his kids were young, no older than eight. Not to mention we had no one there to look to for help or comfort, we would be all on our own. My dad fought against the idea but on June 9, 2003 we found ourselves in Wapato, Washington; right on the Rez.

       If you know anything about Native American history, surely you must know that what was done to them was done in the name of Jesus Christ. Native people don’t take too well to white people in general but especially not to Christians. Who can blame them? I don’t. So it made sense that we were told no one would want anything to do with us and no one would talk to us about anything related to Christianity for at least eight to ten years let alone let us start a church. Yes, that all made sense, but you know who is not worried about “making sense” is God.  So, in classic God fashion, He had us set up for a Tuesday night Bible study at the White Swan longhouse (which is the traditional place of worship, so it’s no small deal for us to be there teaching people about Christ) at the request of an elder in the community. We weren’t even the ones who organized it! A lady who knew who we were and what we were doing on the Rez begged us to have Bible study because she remembers attending one VBS as a little girl and feeling loved there. The love she was shown by the church as a little girl effected her to the point of wanting random white Christians to have a Bible study at the traditional place of worship 50 years later. This Bible study had twenty adults plus a bunch of children on the first night and grew by leaps and bounds for nine years. On the Easter Sunday of that ninth year that Bible study became a church.

        It’s 2013, ten years after we moved, and we have a church.

      The building for this church was purchased in the ninth year and nearly finished halfway through our tenth year of living here. That’s a miracle. If you don’t believe in miracles, then you don’t believe that anything can change for the better, which means you live a sad life, my friend. If you think things do change for the better and it’s just not a miracle, then you need to revisit the story of the fall and take it a wee bit more seriously cause anything good in this world is a gift from God and we don’t deserve it so it’s a miracle that He loves us enough to keep on giving while we’re constantly chasing our idols like Gollum from Lord of the Rings.

      For ten years now, Sacred Road Ministries has brought out teams of people from all over the country to stay on the Rez for a week at a time, five weeks out of the summer, to work on homes in the community and host a kids club (pretty much a VBS) in Totus park (a tribal housing project in White Swan) and Adam’s View Park (a tribal housing project in Wapato). These kids clubs have grown from 20-30 kids each day to 80-100 kids each day.

       Sacred Road Ministries also as a summer internship that lasts twelve weeks (from the end of May to early August). We wouldn’t be able to make it through the summers without the interns. The girl interns either work under my mom preparing meals for summer staff and the teams or they work under Joshua Tsavatewa (Joshua moved to the Rez as the director of the Children’s ministry in 2010, before him my mom did all of the children’s ministry prep and lessons while also being in charge of the food preparations). The guy interns work under “Uncle” Dave Koerner (Uncle Dave has been coming to the Rez for years working as the worksite coordinator) who helps train them and works alongside them as they lead the team members on the worksites.

       Today there is an ownership in the church amongst the adults and children but especially with the teenagers. This is their church. Everyone knows and understands that this isn’t a “White” Church or a “Native” church, it is simply “Their church.” We are a family. Everyone who comes to this church sees the ownership and unity of our church as something that is extremely unique, but also as something that should be apparent in every church. I agree.

       We have teams and interns, but we also have full time staff members. After my family moved out in 2003, Veronica Vasquez moved out in 2007 to be Sacred Road’s administrative assistant. Heather German moved out in 2009 to help with food ministry and youth ministry. The Clevenger family also moved out in 2009, Chuck Clevenger is the director of youth ministry. Joshua Tsavatewa moved out to be the director of Children’s ministry in 2010. The Dempsen family moved out in 2011, Jesse Dempsen is starting an after school program (Kingdom Kids) with some of the children that attend our church. The last addition (for now) to our team is the Greenslade family, Reid Greenslade will be working on the Warm Springs reservation in Oregon during the summers and alongside Chuck and Joshua the rest of the year. Eventually the Greenslades will move to Warm Springs so that we can have a full time ministry there as well. (Sacred Road Ministries branched out to Warm Springs in 2007 and has been sending teams there ever since. The story of how we ended up working in Warm Springs is a powerful one to say the least, but one I’ll have to share later.)

       All this time I’ve talked about what we do on the Rez but not about what the Rez is like. This is because it’s hard to describe the Rez, which is why the Sacred Road Ministries motto thingy is “Come and see.” So, try as we might to explain it to someone, we always end up saying, “You just gotta come see it for yourself.” I’ve tried time and time again to explain the Rez to someone who hasn’t been here before, but I just can’t find the words. This place brings so many emotions and it hits each person differently. So that being said, please understand I’m doing my best; but how do you sum up ten years of chaos, suffering, beauty, love, brokenness, and change?

        The Rez is a blend of beauty and brokenness and it can take years of living here to be able to see both at the same time, and even then it’s hard.

       I make the videos for the ministry, which is at least five videos a summer (one for each team summing up what they did while they were here), and at the end of each video I add these statistics:

         -100% of the Yakama people are deeply affected by drug and alcohol abuse

         -The unemployment rate on the reservation is approximately 75%

      -The life expectancy of a Yakama Indian is only 39 years (the only place in the world with a lower life expectancy is Angola. The people there have a life expectancy of 38 years.)

         -70% of the teenagers are homeless

         -The drop out rate from middle school to high school is 65%

         -There are over three million American Indians and only 2% claim to be Christian

       Many of these are apparent the moment you step foot in the community. That’s just some of the brokenness that affects the people here. There is so much more to be said for the people that have come to be my family. There are so many stories to be shared and that is my main goal in starting this blog.

Native Americans feel like they don’t have a voice. They feel like the rest of the country has forgotten that they are still here. More than once elders in this community have come to us and told us that we have given them a chance to speak up, that Sacred Road team members and staff have made them feel heard, but what’s more is that they feel loved. Even though love is all we have to give sometimes, remember the little old lady that begged us to start Bible Study. Remember that she would not have done so had she not experienced the love of Christ as a child.

       I have nothing to give to the people here, but Christ has taken hold of me and used me to show His love. He has done this with every team member, every intern, and every full time staff member. He has made us enough.

    So I guess my point is that, even though I was so helpless, angry, and broken, God used the reservation to fix me. He took away what I wanted and gave me what I needed, which was the Rez. Despite who I was and who I am, He is building me up to who I am going to be and using the people here to impact me as much as He is using me to impact the people here. This is my story up to this point, but God is not done with me yet.