Year End Reflection

 Sitting by the fire with a friend,

Sheltered from the rain,

I think back over the year and remember.

 

I remember making it to Jacksonville 5 minutes after my grandmother died but singing to her anyway.

I remember getting sick in the Spring and narrowly escaping a stay in the hospital thanks to my doctor giving me a butt shot every day.

I remember helping with the Greenwood Massive Mural.

I remember my dad turning 80.

I remember my cruise to the Mediterranean and seeing the bluest waters and skies in my life.

I remember winning a Bright Ideas Grant.

And I remember walking out of “Oklahoma” and being surprised that I liked the musical “Frozen” after declaring the climatic moment of the movie too soon.

 

2022 has been a year of ups and downs,

As is every year I suppose,

And I greet its departure neither with excitement or dread.

 

Tomorrow is another day,

A New Year,

Another step into becoming,

All that we are meant to be.

Childhood Trauma

 My sister’s family recently adopted a kitten named Birdie.

Birdie was rescued and socialized when she was very young.

She is pretty and playful and happy and makes cute little bird-like sounds.

She is the softest animal I have ever touched, and

She is incredibly sweet.

She flops over in your arms and lets you hold her like a baby.

The other day, my sister was holding her and

Birdie reached up and gently touched the side of Dana’s face with her little paw—

No claws out.

 

My family adopted Annie a little over a year ago.

Annie lived a life on the streets for the first year of her life.

She had an unwanted teenage pregnancy and

Brought herself and her four kittens to our house for rescue.

While her kittens now have other homes,

Annie made her home with us.

She is pretty and soft and fat and happy, but

She isn’t what I would call sweet.

She’s feisty and expresses her opinions by way of her claws.

She is skittish and carries with her a strong survival instinct.

I am hesitant to hold her lest she decide to whack me,

But I will pick her up and put her in bed with me where she will gladly sleep for the night.

 

Birdie and Annie were both abandoned kittens.

Birdie’s calm temperament was fostered by a quick human rescue.

Annie’s spicy temperament was exacerbated by having to survive on her own

(Not to mention that she’s a tortie).

 

In short, what happened to Birdie and Annie as babies,

When things were completely out of their control,

Influenced the rest of their lives.

 

Childhood trauma (and trauma in general) is a very real thing.

Even when one doesn’t remember the trauma,

Trauma lives in the body and can come out when one least expects it.

A sight, a sound, a taste, or a touch

Can trigger a reaction in someone that seems like a gross overreaction,

Leaving the observer dumbfounded.

We see it all the time.

We just might not know what’s happening.

 

So may we be a people aware of the reality of trauma

And may we work to create positive, healing experiences for those around us.

We may not always know when someone has been triggered,

But we can always respond to that which we don’t understand

With grace.  

 

I know I show Annie a whole lot of grace.

The Space After Christmas

 It’s weird.

This space after Christmas.

For weeks, everything builds up to Christmas Day.

Advent calendars and trees and decorations and music and shopping and gifts and food and parades and concerts and teachers and kids restless for the Holiday Break.

Energy is frenetic with

Parties galore.

It’s hard to keep up with the flurry of activity

As the hope for flurries outside intensifies with each passing day.

And then Christmas Day comes.

And then it goes.

And we’re left with empty boxes and empty hearts as the activity.

Just.

Stops.

 

Religiously speaking,

I know that Christmas doesn’t leave us with empty hearts.

I know that it is precisely because of Jesus’s birth

That our hearts can be full.

I know that we’re not supposed to get caught up in the commercial side of Christmas and

That it should pale in comparison to the joy that we feel because of Jesus.

 

But it’s weird.

This space after Christmas.

The tangible form of God is not here.

He came and went 2000 years ago,

Leaving for us the Spirit who is always present,

Yet we can’t see or touch her and

Sometimes when we’re lonely and hurting because family and friends have come and gone

And the adrenaline rush of activity has crashed to a halt and

We’re left with whiplash wondering what just happened,

We need to see and touch something to know that it is real.

 

Yes, we are the hands and feet of Christ on this earth.

Yes, we gaze upon God’s goodness in God’s creation each day that we have eyes to see.

Yes, we have God’s word as our constant companion, but

Sometimes when we’re left in overwhelming silence because

The house is void of people but full of decorations that remind us of

All that was or could have been and

All that we have yet to do

Without the driving energy of a day to look forward to,

The bleak midwinter surrounds us and the dark envelopes us and we forget the hope that is

The Light of the World.

 

 

I know.

Christmas isn’t technically over.

It lasts 12 days until

Epiphany.

But radio stations have moved on and Valentine’s Day permeates stores and most of the world doesn’t know that

Christmas is a season,

That’s its essence lingers,

And so it’s weird.

This space after Christmas.

At least for me.

And maybe for you, too.

There Are Days

 For those for whom the holiday season has been difficult—

For those who carry heavy grief—

For those who live with anxiety and/or depression—

For those who know someone who does…

This post is for you:

 

There are days when the only thing that keeps me going is the thought of crawling into bed and going to sleep.

 

There are days when energy is so low and motivation so lacking that I do well just to brush my teeth.

 

There are days when sound is too much and all I want is silence.

 

There are days when the silence is too loud and all I want is words…or music.

 

There are days when I should be happy yet all I feel is dread.

 

There are days when I should feel surrounded by love yet all I feel is alone.

 

There are days when emotions run deep but tears won’t fall.

 

There are days when empathy overflows to the point of exhaustion and compassion leads to fatigue.

 

Yet even there,

Maybe especially there,

God is…

 

Thank you, Jesus, for understanding the plight of humanity—the ups and the downs, the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow—You experienced it all. With us. Thank you. Amen. 

Ugly Sweater Competition

 The ugliest sweater didn’t win.

It was actually an entire ugly outfit,

But it got lost in the mix because Coach Cronin was in the line-up.

Marcus, as I call Coach, didn’t really have an ugly sweater.

A Christmas sweater? Yes.

But an ugly sweater? No.

Yet he won the Ugly Sweater Competition

Because he is full of energy,

He pulled out his dance moves,

And he is known and loved by the whole school.

 

Kids know when they are loved.

And Marcus loves his students.

He shows it by learning over 500 names

And giving a plethora of silly nicknames.

He shows it by entertaining kids’ jokes and

Playing all kinds of games.

When a kid is upset, Marcus listens.

When a kid is happy, Marcus is happy too.

When a kid acts up, Marcus corrects the behavior.

When a kid gets it right, Marcus celebrates.

Marcus pays attention to our students and

Makes them feel as if they are important

(Because they are).

And so, Marcus won the Ugly Sweater Competition

By quite a few hollers.

 

Joe the Counselor complimented me the other day for being child-like.

Knowing that calling an adult child-like could be considered an insult,

He quickly explained his thinking.

He said that children have the amazing ability to feel emotions as they come.

One moment they may be perfectly happy,

But then something happens to upset them,

Then a few minutes later, they are perfectly happy again.

Children tend to stay in the moment rather than worrying too much about the past or future

And children sense when they are loved and figure out how to show love in return.

Jesus said that we should have the faith of a child—

Faith that is present now and

Rides whatever wave comes when it comes.

 

Last Friday, the children at my school rode the wave of the Ugly Sweater Competition

With love—

Love for a Coach that loves them—

And love for a moment in time when everyone was safe, happy, and warm.

This Holiday Season, may we each hold a child-like faith,

Honoring those who love us with literal and figurative screams of delight,

And feeling our emotions as they come.

 

And who knows?

Maybe we’ll win a competition, too,

Not by merit,

But by love alone,

For Love is the ultimate entry and prize.

 

Amen.

 

 

Holding Hands

 On Thursday during Kindergarten music,

I looked up and saw two of my students

Holding hands.

Happily singing “Jingle Bells”

While holding actual jingle bells in their free hands,

My students swung along their joined hands to the music.

When the girl accidently dropped her bells,

Both students bent down so she could get them,

Never un-holding hands…

 

In yesterday’s gospel reading,

Mary the mother of Jesus went to visit Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist.

Both pregnant with their babies,

Mary and Elizabeth spent three months with one another,

Inevitably sharing stories of their miracle babies and

Who knows what else in between blessings from the Holy Spirit and magnificent declarations.

I could be wrong, but I imagine that at some point

Mary and Elizabeth joined hands and

Sat in solidarity with one another.

Neither was supposed to be having a baby, yet both were.

Their lives were scandalous.

And they needed the support…

 

This holiday season,

Many people are facing the holidays without pets, friends, and loved ones

For the first time—

Or maybe for the tenth time—

And it’s hard.

The missing is real and the loneliness is vast and

The holiday spirit that is supposed to fill the air feels stale and dank and stifling.

Songs sound empty and words blur together

And no amount of tears can stop the pain…

  

So let’s join hands, friends,

Literally or figuratively,

And show up for one another in very real and tangible ways.

In joy, share joy.

In uncertainty, share uncertainty.

In heartache, share heartache.

In community, share love.

We can’t fill the void of missing,

But we can be present for life,

Like my Kindergarteners,

And Mary and Elizabeth…

 

Amen.

Rockstar

 Yesterday during first grade music,

We were singing “Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

#1 said, “Oh, I love this song!”

#2 said, “Yeh, #1 is a rockstar at this song.”

Sure enough, #1 sang every word,

And stayed on pitched.

He was, indeed, a rockstar.

 

The exchange was very simple.

#2 didn’t hesitate to compliment #1.

H e was straightforward,

Because he knew it was a fact.

He was very genuine in his tone of voice,

Sort of like #1’s hype-guy,

But he was much humbler than a hype-guy.

He was, very simply, a kind and supportive friend.

 

First grade music is at the beginning of the day.

That one passing line,

“#1 is a rockstar at this song,”

Stayed with me

And made me smile

All day yesterday.

Through super hyper classes,

Through lunch and lunch duty,

Through a spelling bee that lasted 25 rounds and included no less than six championship words, volleyed back and forth between three really good spellers,

Through car duty,

And all the way home,

#2’s strong affirmation played on repeat in my mind.

 

What if we didn’t hesitate to compliment our friends?

What if we declared as a matter of fact that our friends are rockstars?

What if our tone of voice still held innocent wonder?

What if, very simply, we were kind and supportive friends?

 

Dear God: Thank you for children—for how they challenge and inspire us—for how they speak to our hearts—for how they make us smile. You have given us each different gifts and talents. Help us to honor those differences and to celebrate them with the enthusiasm of a child. And help us, too, God, to find the rockstar in those around us and to boldly, yet humbly, brag on one another, support one another, and encourage one another freely. Always. Amen.   

The Absurdity of the Story

 It never fails.

Each year at Christmas,

As I tell my students various stories about holiday traditions and characters,

I am struck by the absurdity of the Christmas story.

 

A virgin conceives a son.

An angel appears to her and says do not be afraid.

She is afraid of what will come but nonetheless accepts her call.

(I explain none of that).

Her fiancé’s honor is challenged.

He is ready to break the marriage arrangement quietly,

Which in and of itself is remarkable,

But an angel appears to him and says do not be afraid.

He is afraid of what will come but nonetheless accepts his call.

(I explain none of that either).

Mary and Joseph must travel to Bethlehem for a census

(Which I explain as taking attendance).

They travel a long way on foot and donkey.

When they get there, there is nowhere for them to stay.

No one wants to give them a resting place

Except for this one person who is willing to give them a place to stay—

As long as they are willing to stay in a barn.

Desperate for rest,

Mary and Joseph accept the offer.

While there, in less-than-ideal living and birthing conditions,

Surrounded by animal noises and hay and poop,

Their son is born.

They name him Jesus.

Jesus is a very special baby.

(“In the Christian tradition,” I say,)

Jesus is known as the son of God.

Jesus is so special that the lowest of lows, the shepherds,

And the highest of highs, the wisemen,

Both come to visit and bring him gifts.

(And I show a simple Nativity Scene,

Which in an of itself is totally inaccurate because the wisemen came much later).

There is a bounty on Jesus’s head,

But the wisemen refuse to turn him in.

So his family lives in exile for years…

And then we know nothing more about them until they leave Jesus at the temple

Twelve years later.

(I don’t go into that either.)

 

It all sounds like a crazy story,

A work of fiction,

Like Santa Claus riding on a sleigh pulled by reindeer,

Sliding down chimneys and delivering gifts to children whom he is always watching,

Or Frosty the Snowman,

Or Rudolph the Red-Nosed reindeer,

Or The Grinch,

Or the Nutcracker,

Or National Lampoons Christmas Vacation.

 

But I tell my students that regardless of what people believe about Jesus,

We know that a man named Jesus really did exist,

Just like we know that the Maccabees really did revolt,

And people from Africa really were forced to come to America and forget their African heritage

(But I don’t say that—

I just talk about the principles of Kwanzaa

And the importance of remembering history and heritage instead.)

 

Students ask if Santa is real.

Then they ask if God is real.

They want to know what is fact and what is fiction…

Because when it comes down to it,

The Christmas Story is absurd.

And yet…

For those of us who believe,

It is the story that changes our lives.

 

God: Help us to be true to Your Story while honoring other cultures and traditions and not trying to force Your Story down throats. Your Word is powerful. Help us to let it speak…even when it sounds absurd. Then again, your love and grace are illogical as well. Thank you. For being beyond comprehension and what makes sense. Amen.   

Burn Accident

 I found out yesterday that one of my students was severely burned over the weekend. His GoFundMe page says:

 

“Logan was rushed to UNC Burn Center (on Saturday) and admitted to the Jaycee Burn Unit. He will be in the hospital no less than a week but possibly 2-3 weeks. He has deep, 2nd degree burns and his recovery is going to be long. On Tuesday, he had surgery to remove dead skin and assess the wounds. He will require long term OT, home care, burn/skin care with expectation for full recovery in 6 months to a year.”

 

I don’t know the details of what happened, but I know that Logan was burned on his neck, ears, and face, and both of his arms and hands. His life has been profoundly changed—and the change happened in the blink of an eye.    

 

Logan is in the 4^th grade. He is an excellent athlete who is well-loved and respected. He is struggling with not being able to hold a ball. His accident has shaken him and so many others—not the least of which is my team and his classmates. 

 

So please join me in holding Logan and his family in love and light. He’s got a long road ahead of him. And it’s not going to be easy.

 

Oh God: When the road is long and the way is dark, when the path is confusing and the direction uncertain, help us to remember that You Are. You are strong enough to hear our anger and heartache when life is not fair. And You are grace enough to provide the people and resources we need to survive when life has turned upside down. Logan’s life has turned upside down. Help him to make sense of it again soon, and help him as he sets his face toward recovery. Amen. 

That Sinking Feeling

 Have you ever gotten a message that said,

“We need to talk,” or

“I need to tell you something,”

“Emergency staff meeting. I have some information I need to share.”

If you have, then you probably know the sinking feeling that accompanies the words.

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?” you think,

And then your mind takes over and you chase rabbits down rabbit holes,

Trying to figure out everything that could possibly be bad.

 

In yesterday’s Gospel reading,

Mary got one of those messages.

In much more sophisticated language,

Gabriel told Mary that they needed to talk.

 

“Greetings, you who are highly favored!

The Lord is with you.”

 

Yet “Mary was greatly troubled at his words

And wondered what kind of greeting this might be.”

 

“Oh no,” she must have thought.

“An angel is speaking to me. What’s wrong?

What did I do? This can’t be good.”

 

In typical angel response,

Gabriel says, “Do not be afraid.”

Then he goes on to explain that Mary will have a son and name him Jesus.

He will be the Son of the Most High.

 

“Ummm…” Mary must have thought.
“I’m a virgin. I can’t be a mother. Shoot. I’m not ready to be a mother! I’m still really young, and I care a lot about what people think of me. People are going to gossip and shun and turn me away. No one is going to believe that I haven’t already slept with Joseph. And I haven’t. This isn’t going to go well. Are you sure, Gabriel? Because I AM afraid.”

 

Gabriel was sure.

And he explained to Mary all that would come to pass.

And somehow, even in the midst of her fear,

Even with that sinking feeling in her stomach,

Mary found the courage to accept God’s movement in her life.

 

Courage isn’t the absence of fear.

Courage is having the strength to face your fears,

Even when it’s hard.

God: Grant us courage. Amen. 

Response to The Colorado Springs Nightclub Shootings

 On November 20, 2022, a 22-year-old gunman entered a gay nightclub in Colorado Springs and opened fire. They killed five people and left more than two dozen injured.

 

Shortly after the attack, the shooter’s mother was taken into custody for disorderly conduct, and the shooter’s father gave a disheartening interview.

 

While the father did eventually express remorse about persons being killed, his main concern wasn’t for the families of the murdered victims. It wasn’t for the atrocity of what his child had done. It was, instead, for his child’s sexuality.

 

In the interview with a CBS news station, the father, a former MMA fighter and pornography actor, declared his relief that his child was not gay.

 

“They started telling me about the incident, a shooting involving multiple people,” he said. “And then I go on to find out it’s a gay bar. I said, ‘God, is he gay?’ I got scared, ‘Shit, is he gay?’ And he’s not gay, so I said, ‘Phhhewww…’”

 

He went on to say that in his family “We don’t do gay.”

 

In the aftermath of five random and senseless murders, “We don’t do gay,” was the man’s response…and his response was based on his religion.

 

How sad.

 

I know. There is more to this story. Clearly, this family is very broken. Their system is out of balance and probably has been for generations.

 

But…friends: We have got to get beyond using our religion to run from, ignore, or condemn individuals and entire groups of people because we don’t understand or agree with them.

 

Our first response should always be to the horrors of taking human life—literally and figuratively—because God created each of us and loves each of us—regardless of anything we may deem as right or wrong or sin. God is the ultimate judge of humanity. We must let God do God’s work.

 

Oh God: Be with the families and friends of those who lost lives in the Colorado Springs nightclub shooting and with those still recovering—with those whose lives will never be the same because of the trauma. Be, also, with the family of the shooter and do something in them that is beyond human comprehension. If I believe that you are a God of love and redemption, then I must believe that even they are not beyond your grasp. Help us to be a support for all those experiencing trauma and help us, God, to put true life ahead of politics and religion. Forgive us when we judge. And grant us the strength and freedom to love. Amen. 

Tin Art Mentor

Thomas-The-Tin-Art-Teacher is a retired psychologist.

I knew that he was welcoming, gracious, non-anxious, and kind,

But I didn’t know that he was a doctor until I stumbled upon his bio online.

When Hurricane Fran hit NC in 1996, Thomas found himself with a damaged roof.

Because the damage was minor compared to the devastation faced by so many,

Thomas decided to do the roof repairs himself.

When he finished, he became fascinated with the metal that was left over,

The scrap metal,

And therein began his work with Tin Art.

Over the years, Thomas has honed his craft through books, workshops, and practice.

He’s won ribbons at the NC State Fair and has sold art in a couple of different galleries.

He teaches a handful of classes each year,

And I’ve had the privilege of going to three of his classes.

 

After my third class with Thomas-The-Tin-Art-Teacher,

I decided to put my learning into practice at home.

I made quite the investment and

Bought tins, tin snips, a can opener, a rubber mallet, an anvil, a hammer, bonsai scissors, wood, nails, sawtooth picture hangers, wood stain, and work gloves

And got to work.

I’ve deconstructed about 50 tins.

I’ve drawn blood in the process.

I’ve figured out two quilt square patterns.

I’ve made about 10 quilt squares.

I’ve brainstormed about how to combine Tin Art and Blackout Poetry.

I’ve made one combination piece.

I’ve created a workstation in my office and

I’ve created a workstation in the garage.

And most importantly,

I’ve introduced Amelia-The-Niece to a new art medium.

I’ve taught her how to deconstruct a can

And guided her through the process of creating her own piece.

 

On the back of her piece,

She wrote:

Amelia, 11/25/2022

Nana’s House

Mentor: Aunt Dee

 

Amelia called me her Tin Art mentor!

I felt so extremely honored and humbled she wrote those words.

Now, I can only hope that when Amelia thinks of me,

She thinks of someone who is welcoming, gracious, non-anxious, and kind,

Just like Thomas The Tin-Art-Teacher Psychologist. 

Jesus Lineage

 It’s not often that one reads the lineage of Jesus,

Much less hears it read aloud in church.

But yesterday was one of those rare days,

And I had the privilege of doing the read aloud.

Thanks to Andrew Peterson’s song, “Matthew’s Begats,”

I knew how to say all of the names in the lineage.

Some of the names are well known,

Like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Others are less known,

Like Azor, Zadok, and Achim.

But all of them—

Including the four women listed in the lineage—

Lived a life and had a story.

All of them had to make a living and keep food on the table.

All of them had good days and bad.

All of them had partners and raised children.

All of them had grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I imagine that at some point in their lives,

All of them sat around staring at their babies,

Thinking that their babies were the most precious things in the world,

Celebrating their babies’ firsts,

Just as we celebrate our babies’ firsts today…

And that included Jesus.

We often think of Jesus as a tiny baby in the manger,

Aglow with light,

Shepherds and Wisemen coming to visit him,

Set apart from all other babies.

But, in the end, Jesus, fully God and fully human, was just a baby.

He breastfed, and burped, and peed, and pooped, and cried, and took his first steps.

He had a grandfather, Jacob, and a great-grandfather, Matthan.

He likely knew both of them,

And they both likely influenced him in one way or another—

If in no other way than influencing Jesus’ dad, Joseph,

Who then raised the Son of Man in his carpentry shop.

 

I’ve never been a history buff.

The words seem stale on the page and so far away.

But every once in awhile,

Like yesterday,

History comes alive and makes sense to me.

I remember that the words on the page are trying to capture life,

And that life is messy,

With hopes and dreams and joys and heartaches and laughter and tears and emotions.

I remember that people actually lived and that living is complicated,

Especially when trying to live counter-culturally while remaining relevant to the culture,

Which is what we, as 21^st Christians, are called to do.

 

I don’t much about Joram or Jotham,

But I know, now, that I am thankful that they lived.

I am thankful that they fumbled their way through life and raised a child who raised a child who raised a child who eventually raised Jesus

Who called us as brothers and sisters

And welcomed us into the Kingdom of God.

 

Dear God: Thank you for welcoming us into your family through Jesus. Thank you, Holy Spirit, that you are with us, from generation to generation, seeking mercy, loving justice, and pouring out your Love through imperfect people like me. We love you. Amen.

 

Remembering G-mama

 Last year for Thanksgiving,

I was in Jacksonville, Florida,

Staying at the Holiday Inn Express

Just down the road from G-mama’s Assisted Living Place.

Mom, dad, and I ate lunch with June Gail in the empty breakfast room of the hotel.

We had a picnic lunch of chicken salad, ham, cheese, rolls, chips, crackers, celery, carrots, and pickles,

Then we went to visit G-mama.

 

In her last years of life,

G-mama looked forward to going down to the creek each day.

Someone would roll her down the path to the shelter and then they would just sit for awhile,

Usually alone,

But sometimes with another resident or guest.

G-mama couldn’t see very well, so no one really knows what she saw.

But she’d always inquire about the ducks and the turtles.

Then she’d sit until she was tired and ready to go back inside.

 

Last Thanksgiving, on one of our trips to the creek,

G-mama and I did a little photo shoot.

Looking back at the pictures,

I can see how tired G-mama was.

Even though she was happy to have her family with her,

She was simply tired from living.

 

Nonetheless, G-mama smiled for the camera,

And later answered interview questions,

And even later clapped her hands as she listened to my mom play the piano.

At 99 and a half, with almost all her life past her,

G-mama made the most of her final Thanksgiving,

And I will always be grateful that I was able to be part.

 

For those for whom this day is difficult because they are missing someone they love,

And for those for whom the day is joyous because they are surrounded by those they love,

May the day be everything you need it to be

And may God’s love, peace, and grace be at your core.

 

Amen. 

The Turtle

 Many years ago, I became acquainted with a potter named Senora Lynch. Senora is from the Haliwa-Saponi Tribe in North Carolina and has work featured at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, DC. I first met saw Senora on a NC Arts Council video that featured that Haliwa-Saponi Tribe. I then recognized her at her booth in the Village of Yesteryear at the NC State Fair. I was immediately star struck. I introduced myself and we began to talk, striking up an acquaintanceship that has lasted for years. While Senora doesn’t remember my name, she remembers me and is genuinely glad to see me each time our paths cross. I see her each year at the fair and at the American Indian Heritage Day at the NC Museum of History. That’s where I saw her on Saturday.

 

Saturday was an odd day. I went to the Raleigh Christmas Parade and was standing just beyond the point where a truck’s brakes failed, causing the truck to go out of control and kill one young girl. After looking at footage from the event, I think it amazing that no one else was hurt. My family and I had to move three times for ambulances to enter the parade route. We didn’t know what was going on, but we quickly found out from my mom who was watching on TV. The parade was immediately cancelled. Crowds dispersed. But a heavy feeling hung over our hearts.

 

After walking a few blocks to the History Museum, I immediately began to feel the pulse of the Native American drum—the heartbeat of Mother Earth—the call for humanity to be alive. I heard Southern Style singing, which has a low pitch, and I heard Northern Style singing, which has a high pitch, and for the first time in my life I understood the difference between the two. I heard syllable songs and I heard word songs in Native tongues, and I watched both children and adults dance. I breathed in this life and culture that the white man tried to strip away, and I felt a strange connection to a people for whom I have very deep respect.

 

Then I went inside and visited the culture representatives and vendors. I learned about the Three Sisters. I learned how to do a simple quilt stitch. I learned how to do beadwork. It is so much work! I learned how gourds were grown, dried, and cut. And I learned of the generosity of a Cherokee stone carver who gave me a soapstone carved turtle shell simply because he wanted me to have it. I was floored by his kindness.

 

I saw my Senora and greeted her with a hearty handshake. We exchanged pleasantries and then I noticed that one of her turtle’s tails was broken. Her most popular item is her turtle. It is small, meaningful, and affordable. I had purchased two of Senora’s turtles before Saturday. Now I have a third—the one with the broken tail. Its design symbolizes saying prayers each morning and having grandmother moon guide the way each night. It is beautiful.

 

I’m thankful for my acquaintanceship with Senora. I’m thankful for her art and for the work she does to educate and keep Native American tradition alive. I’m thankful for the beat of the drum that reminds us to feel the pulse of life, even when it is heavy and hard. And I’m thankful for a stone carver who selflessly gave his work to a teacher whose heart is open and whose spirit is genuine.

 

Dear God: Be with the family and friends and witnesses who experienced Saturday’s tragedy at the Christmas Parade. Surround them with good people—with life-giving words—with a call to keep going—and with the resources to heal. You provide us with good people like Senora and the stone carver who remind us of the beauty in life each day. Provide those people for them. And thank you, God, for providing them for me. Amen.