Standing in our Midst

Today, we're saying goodbye to part of our community. Again.

Before I moved to the rez, I listened to people talk about it, talk about going to funeral upon funeral upon funeral in just months, talk about the bizarre amount of death that stalked their communities. I listened, hurting for their loss, but I still was watching from the outside.

Last month, within a week, they buried the Crow Chairman; they buried a 16-year-old from Crow; they buried a 20-year-old sister of kids I hang out with from LG; they buried an elderly woman from Pryor, the oldest living Crow; they buried an older man, well-respected by friends and family. Last week, they buried the wife of the famed tribal historian. I could go on. And in a community where everyone is related in some way to practically half the tribe, these deaths affect everyone.

Then, today -- last night -- we lost a sweet, fiery 10-year-old to cancer. I found out at school this morning. Everyone else knew practically within an hour of it happening.

And yet ... this community bounces back. People still laugh in the halls at school. They talk lovingly of the little girl and her family, plan to attend the customary visiting at her grandma's, wonder which church the funeral will be at. They are so elastic; they bounce back so naturally. They know how to survive.

I watch all of this with wide eyes. I anticipated the pain, but not the strength. It is humbling; I have a lot to learn. In this place, amidst the hurting, may we look for the face of the Healer ... and may we find Him standing in our midst.

Maybe this ability to survive does not come from within human hearts at all, but from the One who is in pursuit of His people? In the darkness, may we seek the Light.