Warning! The following post contains some pretty painful stuff (for me anyway), and a plea for help. If you’re looking for light entertainment, you should probably look elsewhere. That said, I hope you won’t, and, if you do make it all the way to the end, I hope you’ll find it worth your time and thought.
This year’s trip to Pine Ridge was a tough one for me, at least initially. On the group level, it was good, nothing really went wrong (at least not more than on any other trip), but on the personal side, I got beaten up a little more than usual (actually, a lot more). See, I got convicted – not in the usual Christian context of believing and speaking and acting with conviction, but in the judicial sentence context, and believe me, I was guilty.
I’ll give you a little background: normally, on Sunday, Dave and I go to Sam’s and Walmart to pick up supplies for the week, while everyone else goes sightseeing in the Black Hills. As a result, Dave and I spend most of our day driving and talking (and griping of course – we both HATE shopping), but we’re basically working, planning the week, trying to get a head start on things so we don’t get run over later in the week when we’re tired, and start to slow down.
One of the things the rest of the group pretty much always does is visit the Crazy Horse Memorial. The mountain carving itself is pretty fantastic, but there is also a great museum there (and lots of books!). Normally, Dave and I don’t get to go because of the aforementioned shopping (and we’ve both been there numerous times on our own), but since our group was significantly smaller this year, we decided that we could spare the time.
The Crazy Horse Memorial is a significant, almost sacred, place to me. He has been one of my heroes as long as I can remember. I started feeling kind of unsettled as we drove through the Black Hills (Paha Sapa – the heart of everything that is – to the Sioux). It is such beautiful country, but marred by billboards for tourist attractions ranging from the inane to the at-least-borderline offensive (if you take the history of the Black Hills into consideration).
Of course, we stopped at Mt. Rushmore first. It’s just one of those things that every American wants to see. Dave and I waited outside while everyone checked it out, and I felt my discomfort growing. When we got to Crazy Horse, I was feeling pretty unhappy. I just wanted to be left alone, hard to do in a group of 15. I finally got separated from the group, and as I wandered through the museum displays, how much we’ve taken from the Sioux (and the rest of the tribes) really came crashing down on me.
I’ve always admired the old Sioux way of life. I like to think that I’d be good at it, at really being free. I felt myself growing angrier and angrier as I compared the relics of their past glory and happiness to the miserable conditions we’ve reduced them to, or really, imprisoned them in. I was angry at my country, and at myself for not doing more to help.
I was a pretty miserable guy to be around for the rest of the day. So much so, in fact, that after our devotion on Sunday night, when Dave asked if anyone needed prayer, I spoke up, (actually I tried to. I was so choked up with misery and guilt that I really couldn’t speak) and if you know me at all, you know how out of character and just plain weird that is. Dave and some of the other fellas came over and laid hands on me, and prayed for me, and it helped. It helped a lot, actually.
See the thing is, that whole day had been a trial for me. The whole day had just been a presentation of the evidence against me, and finally, I was convicted, found guilty. Guilty of hypocrisy, of blaming others, of holding back, of doubt, of fear, of having feet of clay and a bad heart. All the ways that I’ve just been going through the motions with this ministry (or mission, or whatever it is), were laid out before me, and I broke. I suppose you could call this my confession.
I was guilty of saying, “I’m doing the best that I can” (yes, that old familiar chestnut), while holding back, and only doing what I was comfortable with. I was guilty of being angry at people I thought should be helping, and even angry at those I was trying to help, for asking for help. I was angry at myself for not being able to help more, for not being able to fix the problems. As the son of an Indiana farmer, I was raised to fix problems. Fix them and move on, and if you can’t fix it, replace it or walk away. Some of you may be able to relate to some of this.
But the Sioux are not broken tools or tractors, they’re broken people. How do you walk away from that? Especially when you’re part of the system that broke them and keeps them down? So I held back. I tried to help while keeping part of myself separate. I would decide how much I would do, and I would decide what I wouldn’t do (and doing all this deciding under the auspices of working for God, no less. Accidental irony is painful).
This, however, is the great thing about worshiping a loving and forgiving God. The sentence I’ve received is not a punishment, but an opportunity! An opportunity to do better, to do more, to stop feeling responsible and to just help.
I’ve always been reticent about trying to recruit people for this work. I’m a good writer, but a lousy talker. I’ve taken the example of Moses and applied it to myself; I’ll just do the work, and God will provide someone to do the talking. The only problems with that are: 1) I’m no Moses, and, 2) we’ve been at this for 13 years now, and we still don’t have an orator. So I’ve decided to put my self-aggrandizing humility away and volunteer to talk. If you, or your church, or group, or whatever, want more information, delivered in person, give me a call (765) 969-3179. If I can manage to get to where you are, I’ll be happy to come talk to you about this (anywhere within driving distance – say a 12-hour drive – is definitely doable), for free (room and board would be nice, but not obligatory). Also, if you’re lucky, Dave or my brother-in-law, Ron, will be able to come along. They’re both much better than I am.
I’ve been reluctant to even ask my church for help. Don’t get me wrong, they have supported this mission enthusiastically since the beginning (in fact, they started it), but I know how tiring it can be to be asked for help constantly. But I got a call from one of our friends on the Rez, asking for fans because the summer has been so hot that they’ve already had people die from the heat. I asked the church for help, and walked out of there with enough money donated to order 29 box fans. I had them shipped to our friend’s house, and they’ll distribute them to folks in need.
On top of that, our church board voted to officially include Nape Na Si in the missions that the church supports! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Whitewater Christian Church is made up of the best people I’ve ever known, and the truest Christians.
I’m also asking you for help. As much as I hate to do it, I’m afraid I have to. Here’s the thing: we had managed to build up a little bit of a cushion in the bank. However, last winter ate not only that cushion, but also some very large donations. We spent roughly $10,000 on propane and electricity last winter. We don’t send anyone cash. When we get a call that someone’s out of propane, or their electricity has been shut off, or about to be shut off, I call the propane company, or the electric company and pay them directly. That way, we know the money has gone where it needs to go, with no chance for error. Why they have no money is their business. Our business is to help keep them and their kids from freezing to death in those harsh S. Dakota winters.
My church also volunteered to help us out in asking you for help. This may take some explanation, so please bear with me. Nape Na Si has no official standing. We have a name, and a bank account, but that’s it. We’re not an officially recognized entity. That means, if you send us money, you’re sending it to me (or Dave), and trusting us to help people with it. If you don’t know us, it could very possibly sound like a scam. So I’m not asking you to send money to me. I’m asking you to send money to:
Whitewater Christian Church
7918 S. R. 227N
Richmond, IN 47374
This church was established in 1868, so it’s the real deal. If you want to help, send checks payable to Whitewater Christian Church. In the memo section, write “Nape Na Si” or “S. Dakota”. Our church treasurer will deposit the check, and then issue one to me to put in our account. One other advantage of this is that your contributions will be tax-deductible.
I plan to set up three funds: one specifically for propane and electric, one for sponsorships (to help people go on the trip who have the time, but not the money), and a general fund. This would go for expenses like buying fans, or heaters in winter, fuel for taking contributions of clothes and blankets to the Rez, and any other needs that come up. If you want your contribution to go into a specific fund, then please let me know, via phone or email or blog comment. Or, in the memo on your check, write “S. Dakota – Propane” for example, and I’ll put it where you want it. If you don’t let me know, I’ll put it where the need is greatest at that time. Not one penny has ever gone into any of our pockets, and it never will.
Anyway, if you’ve managed to hang in there and read to this point, I thank you. If you want more information on our group, the Sioux, the Rez, or anything else, please contact me. The easiest way to do that is to just comment on this blog post, but you can also reach me on my cell phone (listed above), or by e-mail: moonandjess@frontier.com.
Things are tough for the Sioux. But we all have the opportunity to make them a little bit better. I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on anybody, I’m just asking you to help us help them. Or, cut out the middle man, and find your own way to help them directly. Either way is fine, but if you want to help, and don’t know how, give me a holler. I’m here to help.