Since February and most of March have blown by without much blogging action, I posted the last couple sermons that I've preached. Life is busy here, as per usual. When talking with my mom last night, she asked what has made things so busy and I'm not really sure! We haven't had a lot of groups, but we've had a few meetings here and there, a funeral or two. You know, the normal.
In fact, that's what I've noticed about my life in the last month or so. Things are normal. Yes, there are plenty of difficult days still, but I feel like I'm beginning to fit in here, in some strange way.
Here are the three signs that I feel like I belong a bit more than before:
1.) If you've ever been to Pine Ridge, you know that there are lots of dogs roaming the streets. Most belong to somebody...somewhere. Most dogs are, well, free-range here. They'll stay with their owners sometimes but then run off and chase another dog at other times. There was an article recently about somebody wanting to come eliminate the dog problem here. Granted, driving through town when there are at least twenty dogs off-leash in the middle of the road, in addition to people, horses, cars, etc, makes driving a little bit scary.
There's a dog that used to belong to a guy who was a friend of the Center. Her name is Whitey and I just adore her. She grunts at you, rarely barking, but she's very sweet and always looks happy. She sleeps near the building frequently, but roams about as she pleases. I was walking back from the post office the other day and realized that Whitey was following me home. As simple as it sounds, this little bit of recognition, even from a street dog, made me feel like I belong more than someone who shows up for a week or a day.
2.) Another day at the post office, when getting the mail, the post master said that there was a package with my name on it in the back. I was shocked and impressed, since hundreds of people go in and out of the post office every day and she remembered my name. Again, probably sounds simple, but when you live in a community where you have had to work to make two friends and your work is pretty consuming, being recognized as sorta belonging there is huge.
3.) This one is huge. When my supervisor is presiding over a wake and funeral, she usually has us sing a couple of songs. We may sing a few English hymns like, "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" and "Softly and Tenderly," but we also sing a few Lakota hymns. Sometimes, the Lakota hymns are ones that I know in English, like "Amazing Grace." Other times, it's a hymn I only know through singing it in Lakota. At the last funeral I was at, I sat down with one of the elders who's a matriarch at one of the congregations we work with. Her granddaughter was next to her and points at me and says, "My auntie said that you sing Indian real well. Do you speak it too?" This 80+ year old woman is a Lakota speaker. She didn't grow up speaking English and she still speaks Lakota to her family and friends, using English only when necessary. I was speechless. Here was this Lakota-speaking elder complimenting me on my Lakota, which I really only have survival singing skills--I don't even know what I'm singing!!!! I also had a man compliment my Lakota singing at one of the Presbyterian congregations the other day.
Again, this may not sound significant, but when I'm responsible for leading the singing in every worship community that I participate in and we sing Lakota hymns, this was huge. The Lakota hymns often don't have music and are actually Dakota hymns, which means that while singing the words, without music, in another language, you also have to transpose all the Ds to Ls, the Qs to Ns, drop the N at the end of words, turn the Cs into a Ch sound, the Ss into an Sh sound, etc. It's a lot of work to sing and I'm incredibly honored that elders feel like I can do it well.
It's the little victories that get us through the dark days.
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