the hand of god is present in my life. during this past week, i've begun noticing/thinking about how so many disparate threads of my life may be related in preparing me for what god has in store for me for the future. what his plan is, i don't know. i have postulated several theories, but current disinterest toward the unknown, of something less comfortable than i would like- hinders me from exploring those possibilities. in the meantime, i recently found the essay that i wrote for college admissions and was reminded again of a trip i once took- there's so much that i've forgotten: The Navajo Reservation is a tract of flat and expressionless land, with whirling sand stinging the eyes, and drawn to the mouth and hair like magnets when the wind blows. There is an overtone of dryness and stillness, and many of the Navajo children there are like the landscape that they live on- thirsty for flowing rivers of love. Immediately after I arrived, I was bombarded by requests for piggy back rides and hugs. On our backs rode young laughing sprites, who balanced to stay on our backs while our arms were occupied with smaller children. After a run around the room, complete with jumps and twirls, we sat the excited children down, while new groups of children clambered aboard our bodies. Kids, ages three, four, five, even ten, asked me repeatedly for these signs of affection that I have always taken for granted. I remember one little boy in my Sunday school class who wouldn't respond to anything that I said. He was dressed in a worn, black Raiders shirt with the writing cracked, like cheap tees get when they've been overworn, and black faded jeans. His dirty little face carried on it a look of great solemnity. He's why I'm here, I remember thinking to myself. For the rest of the day, I tried to get him interested in what we were doing. At first, all my attempts were in vain, but as the class progressed he s l o w l y opened up. By the end of the class, he was teasing me with shy "hide and seek" antics (I was trying to photograph him). Although he had given me permission to do it, he made a game of trying to hide every time I pressed the shutter release button. I never got the tricky rascal, but his image will be imprinted on my mind forever. I was fooling around on the piano after vacation Bible school one day when my mindless twiddling was interrupted by a small piping voice, asking me to teach her how to play something. I turned and was met by- nothing! Acutally, the voice that asked me belonged to a little girl who didn't quite reach the level of my eyes. Delighted, I set her on the piano bench and began teaching her how to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb". Pretty soon, I noticed that the youngster wasn't the only one who was listening to my instruction. I was surrounded by a group of Navajo kids, all looking eager to play. Among these, I sought out a young man who had earlier intimidated me with his expressionless stare and Snoop Doggy Dog-style of clothing. I patted the piano bench and he hesitantly joined me. These children learn so quickly. It was impossible for me to teach them every aspect of music, so they learned by imitating what I played. It took them only a couple of tries, too. I worked with many of the kids in this way. Then, after they went home, I wrote the notes of the songs on top of a messily drawn keyboard, so that they could still practice and experiment after I left them. On the two day trip returning home after the two weeks in Arizona, I had plenty of time to reflect about my experience with the Navajo children. In the wee hours of the morning, when only the driver and I were still awake, I pondered over my pampered lifestyle. Even the cramped (there were ten of us in there), rickety old Dodge Ram that I sat in, with its cracked seats and air conditionless interior, was a luxury to those kids on the reservation. The paved highway that we rode on was lavish. On the reservation the roads were muddy ditches that were prone to quagmire cars. From the children (who didn't once complain about their living conditions), I also learned to appreciate my life. I learned the most from the sullen kids. I learned that even though their exterior was one of a brick, cold wall, inside they are still human. They have hopes and dreams and will share them if someone makes an effort to reach out and care for them. posted by testimonies 11:21 AM Add a comment . . .
