Naytahwaush. It’s a small village on White Earth Indian Reservation in northern Minnesota. White Earth is the home of the Ojibwe, or Chippewa, as they are more commonly called. The town consists of just a few streets, a small store, a school, three churches, and small, nondescript houses.
.
We were invited to Naytahwaush to minister at a tent revival. Unfortunately, Pastor Willie Atkinson, who invited us, was admitted to the hospital the day we arrived. Not only did his health situation prevent him from attending any of the meetings, he was also unable to supervise setting up the tent, so we had the meetings inside the church building. (We first met Pastor Atkinson when he brought people to the Bemidji church to baptize them in Jesus’ name. Bro. Ferrin was preaching there that night.)
.
Saturday
.
We drove four hours from Moose Lake – a town on Minnesota’s eastern side – to reach White Earth Reservation. As we drove into the reservation, it became apparent to me that this was a different world from the one I had just left. As our truck ticked away mile after mile, we passed postcard-perfect fields of hay, wheat, and soybeans, thick forests, and pristine lakes, some of them the source of hand-harvested wild rice. Vibrant, emerald fields were decorated with bright yellow flowers. The land seemed remarkably untouched. Other than electric poles and an occasional farm implement, there was little to remind me that human beings were near.
.
When we arrived in Naytahwaush, our introduction to Indian culture immediately began. We quickly discovered that Indians’ style of communication is different than ours. No one had told us where to go, only that we should call a man named Clarence. The problem was that no one gave us his phone number. So, we drove down a dead end street wondering what to do. A few people stared at us as we drove by. Thankfully, Brother Clarence called us as we were driving aimlessly around. We found a spot where Bill could get phone service and Brother Clarence, who would become our tour guide and helper, gave us directions to the cabin/house that we would call home for the weekend. He was in an off-reservation town. We waited for him in the yard about 45 minutes. When he arrived, he gave us a key to the house and showed us in.
.
We didn’t even unpack, but went with Brother Clarence to see the church building. It is very old and needs some repairs. Most people would not think it has much eye appeal, but it would be beautified by the presence of the Lord as He moved among us.
.
.
While talking to Brother Clarence, we realized that nobody in town had been told about the meetings. Though we didn’t know it at the time, this was simply a reflection of the relaxed approach Indians take to schedules and plans. So, with only three hours before service time, Brother Clarence took us to several houses to invite people to the meetings. We even went into a bait shop to tell people about the meetings. Not my favorite place, but you have to go where the people are, even if it means hanging out with leeches and worms.
.
We got back to the house with only a little time to spare. I found sheets and made up the bed as best as I could. As it turned out, there was not an iron in the house, so we wore wrinkled clothes for three days. Fortunately, no one seemed to care.
.
When we arrived at the church, our education continued. No one but Brother Clarence was there. Fifteen minutes turned into 30. Finally, people began to arrive. This is what they like to call “Indian Time.” You can never be quite sure when they will arrive, and even they don’t know. Believe it or not, we sort of got used to this custom. (We’ve learned that when you visit foreign countries, if you want to survive mentally, you have to adapt somewhat to their customs. And reservations are semi-sovereign nations.) We were happy that Pastor Bruce and Sue Brady and some other believers from Bemidji were able to make the drive to join us for all three nights of meetings. After we were all finished fiddling with the sound system, talking to people, and waiting for “late” arrivals, we began the meeting about an hour past the original start time.
.
There really is no format to services. (Again, the relaxed rule reigns.) After a time of worship and singing, Bill preached about redemption. A little nine-year-old girl had come to church that night with purpose: She wanted to receive the Holy Ghost. Her name is Destiny and after quite a long time of prayer, she began to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave her utterance. It was the most beautiful ending to a long, very hot, and somewhat stressful day. She is not a Native American but she will always have a tie to this tiny town, for it is where she received the best Gift of her life.
.
Destiny
.
We returned to the cabin, exhausted. We ate a peach and some zucchini bread I had made. We slept fitfully, partly because we had seen some spiders and our imaginations were getting the best of us. But we were also thinking about the town and some of the things Brother Clarence had told us earlier in the day. As we passed a house with a real-estate sign in the yard, he said, “Not long ago, a guy went into that house and killed the old couple that was living there.” We would drive a little longer and he’d talk about a similar incident. Since he is quite a conversationalist, he didn’t leave out many details. Apparently, stabbings, murders, and suicides are much too common around here. Later, Bill commented to Brother Clarence, “There sure are a lot of people that get murdered around here.” “Yah, yah,” Brother Clarence responded. What seemed strange to us is normal to him. Needless to say, we awoke feeling not-too-refreshed.
.
Sunday
.
Sunday morning found us repeating the procedures of the night before, only this time a different group of people showed up. Bill preached about Paul and how he shook the poisonous viper into the fire. He used Paul’s experience as an analogy to encourage people to shake off discouragement, depression, and other things that keep them down. After a brief time of prayer, almost everyone left. But God was calling one man and with only four of us still in the building, Sonny reached out to God. It didn’t take him long until he, like little Destiny, opened his heart and allowed God to fill him with His precious Spirit.
.
Sonny, Clarence, and Bill
.
That afternoon, Brother Clarence drove us off the reservation to a hometown restaurant. As we passed a certain house, he said that a Syrian man used to live there. This was interesting to us, of course, since we have lived in the Middle East. It seemed strange to me that a man from Syria would make his home on an Indian reservation. It made me wonder why he left Syria and why he chose such a secluded place to live. Anyway, Brother Clarence told us that the man had recently died. Brother Clarence asked his dad, “Dad, are you going to his funeral?” His dad responded, “No. Why should I? He’s not going to come to mine.” What humor. It gave us a glimpse into what made Brother Clarence such a lively tour guide.
.
Brother Clarence dropped us off at the cabin and a couple of minutes later I heard a knock on the door. Bill was in the other room so I went to answer it. I thought it must be Brother Clarence returning to tell us something. I didn’t get to the door before someone had opened it and started to walk in. It was not Brother Clarence. It was a rather short, rather young man with empty eyes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and it was hard to not notice the tattoos all over his arms and chest. His arms were decorated with an intricate strand of tattooed feathers. He said his wife had been life flighted to the hospital in Fargo, North Dakota and he wanted to see if Pastor Atkinson would give him some money to drive there. When I asked him what was wrong with her, he said he did not know. It seemed strange to me that a man would not know why his wife was so sick. When he found out Pastor Atkinson was also in the hospital, he asked who he could contact in the church for some financial help. I referred him to another church leader. I found out later that the leader I told him to call is his wife’s grandfather. We also found out that his wife almost died from a heroin overdose.
.
Drug addiction, alcoholism, gambling, and violence are all too common on White Earth Reservation. Like many other reservations, there are few employment opportunities for the people. Some people have never been taught the value of a good work ethic anyway, so they don’t know the satisfaction that comes from working to provide for a family. Only about four generations have passed since Indians were placed on reservations. For some, the wound is still fresh. They are resentful of what they lost and the many lies they have been told. Locals say that Red Lake Reservation, which is north of White Earth, is the most dangerous reservation in the United States. Brother Clarence told us that the government gives people homes and the people tear them up. We passed an abandoned red car on the side of the road. Brother Clarence pointed out that if your car breaks down and you have to leave it there, someone will come and smash the windows out and beat up the car. That red car we saw was an example.
.
We spoke to Brother Clarence about the anger. Perhaps it was older than the reservations, since Indians had been defending their land and tribes for an untold number of years before Europeans began to conquer them. With the defense came bloodshed and hatred. He, as an Indian, agreed. But no matter the reason, the anger, hatred, depression, and hopelessness that these people live with made us sad. The U.S. government can’t bring them peace and their tribal government can’t bring them peace either. Only Jesus can give them peace when they crush their pride and accept Him and His blessings.
.
That night, when we met at the church for another service, Sonny gave glory to God for what the Lord had done for him that morning. As he described his experience, he said, “I felt like I was floating, like I could touch the ceiling!” Sonny told us that he had been having a terrible struggle with depression for a couple of months. His wife and children were with him that night and he described how his depression had been affecting them. He had been suicidal. He told us how he used to walk in “our traditional Indian way.” He had spent years of his life in juvenile and adult correctional facilities. But Sonny was not depressed or suicidal as he told us about the change in his life. He was glowing with a smile that lit up his eyes. We are thrilled for Sonny and pray that the Lord will help him persevere and that he will commit all of his ways to God.
.
Monday
.
Monday morning came with visitors and we realized that in this culture, the “call before you come” policy does not exist.
.
We were hungry and we had eaten all of our zucchini bread so we went to the restaurant at the “resort” that is just outside of town for an early lunch. This resort of sorts consists of a lodge with a bar, a restaurant, and an arcade, cabins, RV sites, and boat dock. It is situated between two lakes. Quite pretty and the food was decent. It was a nice, quiet hour or so.
.
Later on, Brother Clarence stopped by our cabin for a visit. During the course of conversation, he told us that a bear had been seen in town yesterday, just around the block from where we were. Then, he told us that two people had been stabbed, probably within shouting distance of us. Bill looked at me and I looked at Bill. I told Clarence that I wasn’t scared, just cautious. (I didn’t take any walks for exercise while we were there.) I told him that we have lived in the Middle East and I felt less safe in little Naytahwaush. So, when Clarence got ready to leave, he had to crack one last joke. “I’d better go outside and chase away the natives,” he said. “They’re surrounding the house right now.” Then, as an afterthought, he said, “You know, Sis, a bottle of brown shoe polish would go a long way.”
.
During our last service in Naytahwaush, Bill talked about eagles and their ability to soar above the storm clouds. “The same wind that brings the storm clouds,” he said, “is the same wind the eagles use to soar above the clouds. It takes them to where the Son is.” There was a sweet presence of the Lord and everyone lingered, praying and seeking the Lord. A lady was there whose daughter had died recently. She told us that she was struggling with her faith. She prayed and we hope that she gained some strength from the Word and Spirit of the Lord that night.
.
.
I thought Bill’s use of the eagle in his preaching was fitting for our final service on the reservation. Brother Clarence had told us that eagles are sacred to Indians. If an Indian sees an eagle, he thinks it is a good sign. When an eagle feather falls from the feather bustle that warriors wear during powwows, the Indians have an elaborate ceremony they follow to show their respect for the fallen feather. I remember Pastor Atkinson saying, “When I was in the Indian religion, the eagle was one of my gods. Now, he’s just a little bird hopping around. I had to give God my drum, my dancing custom. Jesus wants to be my only God.”
.
Monday night, after the evening service was over, we followed the Bradys to Bemidi, where we stayed the night. As we drove through the reservation, headed back into the world of Wal-Marts, stop lights, and cell phone towers, the moon looked like a glowing tangerine as it rose from the horizon. Its brilliant radiance was the perfect ending to a somewhat stressful but productive weekend. We don’t worship the moon, but the One who made it. And all who dwell beneath its beauty receive an invitation to worship the One True God of all nature.
.
We went to a restaurant with the Bradys. It was about midnight, and it seemed surreal to be sitting there. Bill and I both felt like we had just arrived back home from a long stay in a foreign country. The past three days and two nights felt like much longer. Sister Brady asked me if I would go back. I said I would. She said she didn’t know anyone else who would do what I did. That seemed a little odd to me, but oh well…I think I always have been a little different from other folks anyway. If that difference enables me to overlook personal discomforts in order to minister to these precious people, then I don’t mind being a little different.
.
But even if the Lord never leads us back, I will never forget the people of Naytahwaush. Really, they are no different from anyone else: Without Jesus, their lives have no meaning. They need the lasting hope only He can give. In a political speech, President Johnson called the Indians “the Forgotten American.” But God has not forgotten these indigenous people. He knows their names, their history, and all their struggles. He wants to help them and give them a reason to live.
.
.
We were invited to Naytahwaush to minister at a tent revival. Unfortunately, Pastor Willie Atkinson, who invited us, was admitted to the hospital the day we arrived. Not only did his health situation prevent him from attending any of the meetings, he was also unable to supervise setting up the tent, so we had the meetings inside the church building. (We first met Pastor Atkinson when he brought people to the Bemidji church to baptize them in Jesus’ name. Bro. Ferrin was preaching there that night.)
.
Saturday
.
We drove four hours from Moose Lake – a town on Minnesota’s eastern side – to reach White Earth Reservation. As we drove into the reservation, it became apparent to me that this was a different world from the one I had just left. As our truck ticked away mile after mile, we passed postcard-perfect fields of hay, wheat, and soybeans, thick forests, and pristine lakes, some of them the source of hand-harvested wild rice. Vibrant, emerald fields were decorated with bright yellow flowers. The land seemed remarkably untouched. Other than electric poles and an occasional farm implement, there was little to remind me that human beings were near.
.
When we arrived in Naytahwaush, our introduction to Indian culture immediately began. We quickly discovered that Indians’ style of communication is different than ours. No one had told us where to go, only that we should call a man named Clarence. The problem was that no one gave us his phone number. So, we drove down a dead end street wondering what to do. A few people stared at us as we drove by. Thankfully, Brother Clarence called us as we were driving aimlessly around. We found a spot where Bill could get phone service and Brother Clarence, who would become our tour guide and helper, gave us directions to the cabin/house that we would call home for the weekend. He was in an off-reservation town. We waited for him in the yard about 45 minutes. When he arrived, he gave us a key to the house and showed us in.
.
We didn’t even unpack, but went with Brother Clarence to see the church building. It is very old and needs some repairs. Most people would not think it has much eye appeal, but it would be beautified by the presence of the Lord as He moved among us.
.
.
While talking to Brother Clarence, we realized that nobody in town had been told about the meetings. Though we didn’t know it at the time, this was simply a reflection of the relaxed approach Indians take to schedules and plans. So, with only three hours before service time, Brother Clarence took us to several houses to invite people to the meetings. We even went into a bait shop to tell people about the meetings. Not my favorite place, but you have to go where the people are, even if it means hanging out with leeches and worms.
.
We got back to the house with only a little time to spare. I found sheets and made up the bed as best as I could. As it turned out, there was not an iron in the house, so we wore wrinkled clothes for three days. Fortunately, no one seemed to care.
.
When we arrived at the church, our education continued. No one but Brother Clarence was there. Fifteen minutes turned into 30. Finally, people began to arrive. This is what they like to call “Indian Time.” You can never be quite sure when they will arrive, and even they don’t know. Believe it or not, we sort of got used to this custom. (We’ve learned that when you visit foreign countries, if you want to survive mentally, you have to adapt somewhat to their customs. And reservations are semi-sovereign nations.) We were happy that Pastor Bruce and Sue Brady and some other believers from Bemidji were able to make the drive to join us for all three nights of meetings. After we were all finished fiddling with the sound system, talking to people, and waiting for “late” arrivals, we began the meeting about an hour past the original start time.
.
There really is no format to services. (Again, the relaxed rule reigns.) After a time of worship and singing, Bill preached about redemption. A little nine-year-old girl had come to church that night with purpose: She wanted to receive the Holy Ghost. Her name is Destiny and after quite a long time of prayer, she began to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave her utterance. It was the most beautiful ending to a long, very hot, and somewhat stressful day. She is not a Native American but she will always have a tie to this tiny town, for it is where she received the best Gift of her life.
.
Destiny
.
We returned to the cabin, exhausted. We ate a peach and some zucchini bread I had made. We slept fitfully, partly because we had seen some spiders and our imaginations were getting the best of us. But we were also thinking about the town and some of the things Brother Clarence had told us earlier in the day. As we passed a house with a real-estate sign in the yard, he said, “Not long ago, a guy went into that house and killed the old couple that was living there.” We would drive a little longer and he’d talk about a similar incident. Since he is quite a conversationalist, he didn’t leave out many details. Apparently, stabbings, murders, and suicides are much too common around here. Later, Bill commented to Brother Clarence, “There sure are a lot of people that get murdered around here.” “Yah, yah,” Brother Clarence responded. What seemed strange to us is normal to him. Needless to say, we awoke feeling not-too-refreshed.
.
Sunday
.
Sunday morning found us repeating the procedures of the night before, only this time a different group of people showed up. Bill preached about Paul and how he shook the poisonous viper into the fire. He used Paul’s experience as an analogy to encourage people to shake off discouragement, depression, and other things that keep them down. After a brief time of prayer, almost everyone left. But God was calling one man and with only four of us still in the building, Sonny reached out to God. It didn’t take him long until he, like little Destiny, opened his heart and allowed God to fill him with His precious Spirit.
.
Sonny, Clarence, and Bill
.
That afternoon, Brother Clarence drove us off the reservation to a hometown restaurant. As we passed a certain house, he said that a Syrian man used to live there. This was interesting to us, of course, since we have lived in the Middle East. It seemed strange to me that a man from Syria would make his home on an Indian reservation. It made me wonder why he left Syria and why he chose such a secluded place to live. Anyway, Brother Clarence told us that the man had recently died. Brother Clarence asked his dad, “Dad, are you going to his funeral?” His dad responded, “No. Why should I? He’s not going to come to mine.” What humor. It gave us a glimpse into what made Brother Clarence such a lively tour guide.
.
Brother Clarence dropped us off at the cabin and a couple of minutes later I heard a knock on the door. Bill was in the other room so I went to answer it. I thought it must be Brother Clarence returning to tell us something. I didn’t get to the door before someone had opened it and started to walk in. It was not Brother Clarence. It was a rather short, rather young man with empty eyes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and it was hard to not notice the tattoos all over his arms and chest. His arms were decorated with an intricate strand of tattooed feathers. He said his wife had been life flighted to the hospital in Fargo, North Dakota and he wanted to see if Pastor Atkinson would give him some money to drive there. When I asked him what was wrong with her, he said he did not know. It seemed strange to me that a man would not know why his wife was so sick. When he found out Pastor Atkinson was also in the hospital, he asked who he could contact in the church for some financial help. I referred him to another church leader. I found out later that the leader I told him to call is his wife’s grandfather. We also found out that his wife almost died from a heroin overdose.
.
Drug addiction, alcoholism, gambling, and violence are all too common on White Earth Reservation. Like many other reservations, there are few employment opportunities for the people. Some people have never been taught the value of a good work ethic anyway, so they don’t know the satisfaction that comes from working to provide for a family. Only about four generations have passed since Indians were placed on reservations. For some, the wound is still fresh. They are resentful of what they lost and the many lies they have been told. Locals say that Red Lake Reservation, which is north of White Earth, is the most dangerous reservation in the United States. Brother Clarence told us that the government gives people homes and the people tear them up. We passed an abandoned red car on the side of the road. Brother Clarence pointed out that if your car breaks down and you have to leave it there, someone will come and smash the windows out and beat up the car. That red car we saw was an example.
.
We spoke to Brother Clarence about the anger. Perhaps it was older than the reservations, since Indians had been defending their land and tribes for an untold number of years before Europeans began to conquer them. With the defense came bloodshed and hatred. He, as an Indian, agreed. But no matter the reason, the anger, hatred, depression, and hopelessness that these people live with made us sad. The U.S. government can’t bring them peace and their tribal government can’t bring them peace either. Only Jesus can give them peace when they crush their pride and accept Him and His blessings.
.
That night, when we met at the church for another service, Sonny gave glory to God for what the Lord had done for him that morning. As he described his experience, he said, “I felt like I was floating, like I could touch the ceiling!” Sonny told us that he had been having a terrible struggle with depression for a couple of months. His wife and children were with him that night and he described how his depression had been affecting them. He had been suicidal. He told us how he used to walk in “our traditional Indian way.” He had spent years of his life in juvenile and adult correctional facilities. But Sonny was not depressed or suicidal as he told us about the change in his life. He was glowing with a smile that lit up his eyes. We are thrilled for Sonny and pray that the Lord will help him persevere and that he will commit all of his ways to God.
.
Monday
.
Monday morning came with visitors and we realized that in this culture, the “call before you come” policy does not exist.
.
We were hungry and we had eaten all of our zucchini bread so we went to the restaurant at the “resort” that is just outside of town for an early lunch. This resort of sorts consists of a lodge with a bar, a restaurant, and an arcade, cabins, RV sites, and boat dock. It is situated between two lakes. Quite pretty and the food was decent. It was a nice, quiet hour or so.
.
Later on, Brother Clarence stopped by our cabin for a visit. During the course of conversation, he told us that a bear had been seen in town yesterday, just around the block from where we were. Then, he told us that two people had been stabbed, probably within shouting distance of us. Bill looked at me and I looked at Bill. I told Clarence that I wasn’t scared, just cautious. (I didn’t take any walks for exercise while we were there.) I told him that we have lived in the Middle East and I felt less safe in little Naytahwaush. So, when Clarence got ready to leave, he had to crack one last joke. “I’d better go outside and chase away the natives,” he said. “They’re surrounding the house right now.” Then, as an afterthought, he said, “You know, Sis, a bottle of brown shoe polish would go a long way.”
.
During our last service in Naytahwaush, Bill talked about eagles and their ability to soar above the storm clouds. “The same wind that brings the storm clouds,” he said, “is the same wind the eagles use to soar above the clouds. It takes them to where the Son is.” There was a sweet presence of the Lord and everyone lingered, praying and seeking the Lord. A lady was there whose daughter had died recently. She told us that she was struggling with her faith. She prayed and we hope that she gained some strength from the Word and Spirit of the Lord that night.
.
.
I thought Bill’s use of the eagle in his preaching was fitting for our final service on the reservation. Brother Clarence had told us that eagles are sacred to Indians. If an Indian sees an eagle, he thinks it is a good sign. When an eagle feather falls from the feather bustle that warriors wear during powwows, the Indians have an elaborate ceremony they follow to show their respect for the fallen feather. I remember Pastor Atkinson saying, “When I was in the Indian religion, the eagle was one of my gods. Now, he’s just a little bird hopping around. I had to give God my drum, my dancing custom. Jesus wants to be my only God.”
.
Monday night, after the evening service was over, we followed the Bradys to Bemidi, where we stayed the night. As we drove through the reservation, headed back into the world of Wal-Marts, stop lights, and cell phone towers, the moon looked like a glowing tangerine as it rose from the horizon. Its brilliant radiance was the perfect ending to a somewhat stressful but productive weekend. We don’t worship the moon, but the One who made it. And all who dwell beneath its beauty receive an invitation to worship the One True God of all nature.
.
We went to a restaurant with the Bradys. It was about midnight, and it seemed surreal to be sitting there. Bill and I both felt like we had just arrived back home from a long stay in a foreign country. The past three days and two nights felt like much longer. Sister Brady asked me if I would go back. I said I would. She said she didn’t know anyone else who would do what I did. That seemed a little odd to me, but oh well…I think I always have been a little different from other folks anyway. If that difference enables me to overlook personal discomforts in order to minister to these precious people, then I don’t mind being a little different.
.
But even if the Lord never leads us back, I will never forget the people of Naytahwaush. Really, they are no different from anyone else: Without Jesus, their lives have no meaning. They need the lasting hope only He can give. In a political speech, President Johnson called the Indians “the Forgotten American.” But God has not forgotten these indigenous people. He knows their names, their history, and all their struggles. He wants to help them and give them a reason to live.
.
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