American Villages

The word 'village' excites me. Sounds foreign, adventurous, rural, new, culture, third world. Somewhere far away. to think America has villages is bizarre for me. This past weekend I had an opportunity to join Carry The Cure and Broken Walls ministry and go to two Alaskan native villages. Here's a small peak into the weekend.

I was very concerned when I arrived at the air hanger to find no no one in the office or waiting room, I was expecting to find team there, none of whom I knew. Turns out I had my own personal flight from Soldotna to Palmer where we would collect the rest of the team.

Hooper Bay from the airplane. Not a single tree or bush. Many of the people still live sustainable lives; moose and seal hunting, berry picking, collecting greens. Half the village does not have running water in their homes. In these homes they have steam baths instead of showers, doesn't sound to bad to me! The nearest hospital and health clinic is a 45 minute flight away. No roads reach Hooper. The village is secluded from many outside influences, but the outside is also secluded from Hooper's influence. The village is rich in culture, value and honor. 

The Hooper Bay airport. As in a shed and a landing strip. Yes, in the distance there is an igloo, but not a real ice one.

The school has around 500 students k-12. All building are built on stilts because of permafrost and flooding. A high school teacher told me one day they had to let the students out early because a flood was coming and the little kids could be swept away in the waters, but the teachers had to continue working. She said it was bizarre to feel the entire school shaking and to know you are surrounded by water.

In Iowa they joke about riding our tractors to school. I only saw five different trucks here, otherwise people only drive their four wheeler and snow machines. While they do not drive dogsleds, Carol from our team told stories of racing dog sleds with her mom and Jonathan told us how his dad would drive dog sleds into different villages in Canada to share the Gospel. 

When they only have four wheelers and snow machines, this speed limit isn't to bad I suppose.

View from my high school window: corn fields and houses. I told one lady who had never been to the lower 48, what they see out their window is what Kansas looks like in the winter. This lady didn't get the Kansas Iowa rivalry...

The Yup'ik language is still spoken in Hooper and other surrounding villages. Many signs in the school are first written in English, then in Yup'ik. I walked past a couple classrooms and the teachers were teaching in Yup'ik. Several of the students I spoke with could understand Yup'ik, but not speak it.

We were in America, but we really were not in America. As the lovely Maya Angelou says, "It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength."

There was a wrestling tournament in the gym adding many more students to the already large school. Other villages flew their students in; these students were sleeping on classroom floors like us. 

In committing to life, we are committing to all of life, the lovely and the unlovely. We commit to believing in passion and purpose even when we feel unqualified and useless. We commit to dreaming and walking through life, even when our vision becomes blurry and our foot steps are shaky. We commit to being there for each other, believing in the life, passions, purposes, and dreams of others. We commit to seeking out the life in others, knowing they contain deep beauty too. We commit to life. Ours. Others. All of it.

I was able to spend time in the home economics room. They had a few of my favorite things: high schoolers, kitchen and food. Their teacher, Eric, caught my attention the first night we were there. He had students cooking till 7 p.m. I ended up talked with him for over an hour. He shared his story and heart behind why he does what he does. He had to cut the conversation though because he had a student coming to his apartment to make cookies. With the 4 suicides in October, Eric said his job became even more important. He was able to offer a table, a home like setting, for students to come, talk, laugh and get away. Eric said the students are tired of talking about suicide, they just want life. The student in this picture, Joyce, is a senior. When she is done with school she will be taking care of her grandma. She has no dreams or passions for the future. In the village she knows what her role will is. Eric is teaching her new ways to cook old food. He recognizes most of the students will never leave. He is realistically equipping them to live and honor the culture they are born into.

Jassenda. She quickly attached herself to me, not leave my side. She helped me collect pots to use as drums during the assembly, introduced me to different teachers and friends, and helped make sure no students touched the computer and computer stand during the assembly. She was constantly touching me, whether it was holding my hand, sitting with our legs touching or wrapping my arms around her. She braided my hair during the evening concert; her legs were covered with my hair she pulled so tight! 11:30 p.m after the concert, she walked home by herself. She desired to be loved.

I was talking with this elder before we had a meeting with the tribal elders in Hooper. Her parka has four different furs, is seal skinned lined, and her mom made the kuspak outer layer. Her daughter, who is actually her granddaughter she adopted, is wearing a parka the elder's mother made 40 years ago out of several different furs. Both parkas have been worn by past relatives. The parkas contain a rich layer of history and culture bringing glory and honor to the Yup'ik ways of life.

She kept saying, "Look at the funny face I can make!"

Our wonderful team!

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." -Mark Twain

The first night in Bethel, while the band was practicing, Carol and I made crepes. Carol placed a towel on her arm, loaded a platter and served the crepes (later with ice-cream and drizzled in chocolate). She joyfully, lovingly and with much fun served!

Holy Spirit showed up. My words cannot begin to touch the surface of what happened. Many men and women expressed how they  grew up being told Native drums and dancing were evil. These men and women were dancing by the end of the night. There was physical healing of stomachs, chests and kidneys. Sons and daughters had their identity reaffirmed, stepping into the roles they were designed to walk in. Freedom. Freedom is never withheld from us.

And naturally I found myself a baby to love. I connected first with his grandma, Alice, during morning service. Alice buried her son a week ago, now carrying a heavy burden. She said she was at the store and felt guilty for buying herself something. She felt guilty dancing in church because her son just died. She felt guilty thinking she could be joyful and mourn at the same time. In the evening service I saw him and Alice in the nursery. I told Alice I would hold him while she worships and listens. He ended up falling asleep. Turns out this little guy is the son of Alice's son who died, there is no mom. Alice experienced freedom. She was able to dance and smile and laugh and was healed of stomach and chest pain. This little guy was held and loved for a couple hours. And my heart was full!


Carol and I in native regalia. Carol was patient and gracious, correcting me many times when I made cultural blunders. In the villages, the elders tended to talk to her, often coming across cold to me because I was white. Carol explained, often giving her own personal testimonies, of why. There is a deep hurt within the Native community of white man coming in and disrupting culture (this does not excuse or overlook the offenses from Natives on white man). There are many things I did not understand culturally, such as allowing an Indian to speak, a four second pause does not mean they completed a thought. Many villages still follow traditional styles of living, community structure, and traditions. Carol was safe, I was able to make mistakes in front of her, experiencing gracious correction instead of criticism. It was much like international outreach. 

The band Broken Walls. Praising the Creator with native drums, sounds and rhythms. Incredible ministry, message and heart.

The plane, in five days, took off 7 times.

Five days. Lack of sleep. Inconsistent meal times. Over 100 salvation. Freezing temperatures. Crazy testimonies of Holy Spirit showing up, Abba loving as He always does, and the work of Jesus being realized in personal ways. This is the life of a missionary. Not always glamorous, fun, easy or enjoyable. The road on which we take may be full of potholes, for some missionaries literally.  We commit to going down the roads, through the sky and across the waters despite bumps, turbulence or waves. We commit to valuing the one in front of us. We may sleep on king size beds, classroom floors, bamboo mats or in hammocks. We may be eating five course meals, cafeteria food, or dirty rice. But the message we carry is one of hope. A dangerous message, a message of life. A message we commit to carrying no matter the price.

America. The brave. The beautiful. The culturally diverse.

http://carrythecure.org/

http://brokenwalls.com/