The Choice – No Barrier of Culture or Race
When I let the dogs outside at 5:00 AM, the doves were cooing and the birds were chirping; the sun had already done a good share of rising and it looked like the day would be beautiful. I hoped my dogs, 2 in the back yard and 3 in the front, would be quiet, not waking the neighbors at this early hour on Sunday morning.
The first cup of coffee had finished dripping through the filter into my favorite cup so I called the dogs back from the yards. They were unusually cooperative as I fed and got them settled. I planned on having the next hour for my Bible and prayer.
Hogan
I opened my office window and was met with the sounds of Native American drumming and chanting from a few houses down the road. I decided to take my coffee and move to the patio to listen to these words of another language as they drifted on the wind. If I’d been more energetic and had strolled down our dirt road, I’d have seen a gathering at the hogan that I pass when walking the dogs, or perhaps they’d have erected one of the large tee-pees that come and go in this largely Native American neighborhood. I settled into my chair feeling like I was in a John Ford movie.
By 5:35 the neighborhood dogs, of which there are hundreds, had taken up their early morning Doney Park chorus. A few minutes later the local donkeys added their pitiful, almost painful sounding, voices to the mix. By 5:45 4 or 5 trucks had screamed down the road ignoring the signs that say 15 mph. So much for quiet and peaceful.
And then the drums and the chanting went silent.
At 5:45 the sun glowed at least twice as high on the horizon as the rooftops it warms. Somewhere I could hear roosters crowing and I thought, “a little late, guys”. The doves continued to coo and the neighborhood dogs kept on with their chorus which will continue for most of the day.
I pondered this brief outsider’s glimpse into another culture -another world. Daily I see the children of these families as they walk the road to meet the school bus. They don’t know me and they don’t realize that I watch from my patio between the huge Ponderosa Pines in the back yard, silently praying to the King of Kings for their salvation and a peaceful day at school.
I wonder what the future will bring for these young people. The elders of their clans fight to keep the heritage and history of their people alive with ceremonies at 5:30 AM. I see them in the grocery store and at the feed store; the old ones, the grandmothers who come from the reservation to pick up supplies. They speak in their Navajo tongue and their wizened faces speak volumes of a life that the rest of us know little about. They know that their youth are being sucked away from the heritage of their ancient people by the lure of the modern world. Their is little they can do to stop it.
In the end their fate, both young and old, will be that of all mankind. What came from dust will return to dust and each person will be faced with the same choice. Like everyone in the world, whether they live on the reservation or on my dirt road, they will choose Jesus or they will not.
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