Mourning, Grieving, Healing, and Reconciliation

A few days ago, I received a text message from a long time friend asking me to give him a call when I had a moment. I responded as quickly as I could—this friend wouldn’t make a request like that unless he had something really important to share. When I called, he told me that Joseph Crow Neale, a one-time very close friend of ours, and the principle chief of my tribe, had passed away from a heart problem earlier in the week.  He was under sixty years of age, and from what I gather, his health had been in decline, but no one thought his light would be extinguished so soon.

I was beside myself as I took in this news, and unsure how to respond. For years, I had prayed that somehow our friendship would be reconciled and restored, and that we would be able to pick up where we left off, but this news took away any hope of that future outcome on this side of eternity.

Over the last few days as I have had space to reflect and grieve, I’ve given a lot of thought to the important role he had in my life and in the lives of many other people. He wasn’t perfect, and as much as we ourselves are able to see our shortcomings, he would have been ready to admit them.

He was generous with his time, and would spend hours with young men and women in our tribal community, and he would patiently teach them as much of our tribal traditions as they were willing to learn. He always wanted to make sure the younger generation could feel proud of their Shawnee heritage, and that they could hold onto some memories of our ceremonial ways and traditions. I had a conversation recently with a member of our tribe reminiscing over how much he cared for her youngest daughter when she was brought to our tribal grounds as an infant. He said, “These young children are the next generations of our people.”

I remember when my best friend in the whole world, Willie, had his daughter and son on our tribal grounds for the first time. Crow went out of his way to always make sure these children were included. On one occasion, Crow took paints with Emalee, Willie’s daughter, and had her “help” him decorate a coconut shell rattle.  I believe making gestures like this to include young people like Emalee, likely positively shaped her own memories of what it was like to grow up in a tribal community.

Crow and his late father were always willing to share responsibilities and give our people opportunities to learn by doing. In allowing others to gather materials for ceremonies or take care of various aspects of preparation, he would allow people to make mistakes, and then use these mistakes as an opportunity to educate. He valued giving people an opportunity to at least attempt to figure things out on their own before intervening.  

Crow would work tirelessly for our tribal community. Every year he set a goal of making some type of improvement to the land, and he sought to involve whoever was willing to help make those improvements. He launched into the construction of our tribal council house (designed by his uncle, Flying Duck), and he also led work parties in the construction of an arbor, the transit and assembly of a supply shed granted from Fort Necessity, as well as the creation of an earthen oven.

Crow encouraged our people to explore and visit the sites of some of our ancestral villages. In fact, I remember one occasion where the owner of a piece of property that was once the site of one of our villages allowed us to take a few stones back to our ceremonial grounds as a gesture to symbolically reconnect us with those lands. We took road trips all over West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Ohio to help ourselves and other Shawnees to connect with their past.

Crow and his father were two of the first people I ever saw pursue servant leadership actively. By tradition, chiefs usually would eat first during feasts, but for Crow and his late father, they chose to eat last—they believed that it was a more important principal to ensure that everyone in the tribe had eaten—and that elders would eat first. They taught by example that we take care of our elders, and that we seek the good of others before we seek our own welfare. This concept is in line with our common Christian heritage as well as much of Native tradition.

He and his father allowed me to spend a summer living with them and learning the old ways back when I was in college, and during the months after graduating and before I started my first “grown-up” job, they invited me back into their home where I continued to learn from their leadership and mentorship. Thankfully I was offered an opportunity to give back (and learn additional skills) by helping put a roof on their house and repair parts of the home that had fallen into disrepair. Toward the end of my time with them that fall, they handed me $200 for “helping out.” That same day, my mom called to tell me that my first student loan payment form came in the mail—I owed $200. They had providentially helped me address that financial need.

Crow and his dad helped me grow in my relationship with Christ from some of the earliest moments of my walking with Christ. I witnessed their examples of generosity with time and resources (along with similar examples from friends in Morgantown), and sought to emulate their rich faith, and learn as much as I could about Jesus and the Bible. Crow used to listen to the Bible on cassette everywhere he went, and, as a result, he was incredibly familiar with the scriptures. He often had a timely verse for various situations.

The last time I remember speaking to Chief Crow was in the fall of 2004. I had just heard a sermon about recognizing people who had been a positive influence in your life, and when possible letting them know the valuable role they had in helping you become a better person. I was driving home to visit my parents in Parkersburg, West Virginia, and I thought, “I’m going to call Crow and thank him for the positive influence he had been in my life.” And so I called out of the blue, and told him just that. I thanked him for the lessons he had shared with me, and for the important role he had played in helping me become the person I had become, and for taking the time to pour into myself and many others. He thanked me and let me know he appreciated the gesture and the words, and then we said goodbye for what ended up being the last time.

Looking back from this present vantage point, I would have never imagined that this conversation would be the closest he and I would come to reconciliation on this side of eternity. I can only imagine there are many others who have had similar relationships with people with whom they never get to experience the full reconciliation that they hope would happen on this side of eternity. Crow’s untimely demise is a very compelling and sobering reminder of the importance of keeping short accounts with others, and striving, so far as it depends on you, to be at peace with others.  Not everyone has an opportunity for those types of conversations, but when we do, we should take them. There is healing and reconciliation that can take place for all.

And now, as I think about Chief Crow’s legacy, it is my heartfelt prayer that our people will continue to move forward even more strongly, and that we will collectively embody all of these wonderful attributes of this leader who has gone to be with Jesus. To me, I feel like that is the greatest way we can honor those who no longer walk this earth, and it is a gesture of reconciliation and healing that can carry forward into future generations for the good of all people.

In Memory of Tata Chairman Philip Mohochi

I had heard much about Philip long before I ever had the opportunity to meet him. He had retired from a career working in a bank to return to his home community in Kuria West, Kenya in an effort to help address the systemic poverty he had witnessed there all of his life. He was a man deeply committed to his faith, his family, and to the service of others. And he was a linchpin in the world of Nuru.

In 2011, I was able to travel with a couple other Nuru team members, Kim Do, and Karina Sobieski to visit Kuria West, and see first-hand the impact of Nuru's work on the ground. During that time one of my greatest memories was a morning spent in Chairman Mohochi's home sharing stories and dreaming of what the future held for Kuria West, for Kenya, and for Nuru International's work around the globe.

Philip was an inspiring individual to be around. He loved others well, and provided strategic direction and cohesion for Nuru's work in Kenya over these last five years. He was the keeper of the vision for Nuru Kenya.

Today, I received word that Philip and his brother Robi were killed in a car accident on their way home from Migori, Kenya. As I have had time to reflect, my sadness has grown but so has my hopefulness. I'm sad for the loss of this inspiring and visionary leader for Nuru Kenya and Nuru International. When someone leaves this world, there is always sadness, but today my sadness is mixed with shock and anger because I feel like this was an occasion where someone was ripped out of this world into the next.

At the same time I'm hopeful. I'm hopeful because this world's loss is heaven's gain. Philip's faith was an inspiration to me during the handful of times we were able to talk about our shared hope and our mutual inspiration for service. And I know that this was true about Philip for many others as well. I'm hopeful because of the vision that Philip had for Kuria, for Kenya, and for the world is becoming a reality.

Philip's Question from Nuru International on Vimeo.

During the last time I talked to him in his home, I saw a photo of Jake, Janine, Nicole, Doug, and himself on his wall from the first weeks they were in Kuria West starting Nuru together. I asked him, "What is it like for you when you look at that photo and think about what has been accomplished in these last four years?"

Philip's eyes brightened, he smiled, and he looked me in the eyes and said, "It's like I'm living in a dream!" He went on to talk about how much had been accomplished and his vision for taking Nuru to even more communities across his country.

And now as I write this, I think about all of those who Philip touched through his life. I think about his friends, his family, and his community in Kuria West as they mourn the loss of their beloved friend, their father, their Chairman. I think about all of the people who have been supporting Nuru's efforts in Kenya and Ethiopia and how they were inspired by his story of servant leadership. I think about the way occasions like this leave us all without words and filled with unanswerable questions.

And then I think about the strong foundation he laid and his legacy. I think about the fact that because of Philip and his vision for his community, there are over 30,000 people in Kuria West who are lifting themselves out of extreme poverty. Because of Philip and his vision, that number will be steadily increasing in the years ahead in Kenya and in other countries. Because of Philip, a whole generation of leaders around the globe will continue to "be Nuru" and bring lasting change to our neighbors who are needlessly suffering.

May those who knew him continue fiercely moving forward in the work he bravely began, and may those who did not have the privilege of knowing him be inspired by his life and vision to join us in this fight!

Five Years

Today marks five years since my mom left this world and journeyed to be with Jesus. The time has passed so quickly. It really feels weird to think about how much my life and the life of my family has changed since she went home to be with Jesus. I wish she could have been around to see it all, and that she was still here with us, but she has gone on to a far better place. She no longer suffers the challenges of high blood pressure, type two diabetes, congestive heart failure or metastatic invasive carcinoma breast cancer. And when I list out all of those challenges she faced daily, it makes it even more impressive she stayed with us for as long as she did. 

In 2007, I cut a significant amount of my hair in honor of my mom, and in 2008, I cut the remainder of my locks in honor of her, and to mourn her loss as per our Shawnee tradition. I’ve not grown it back since. My brothers, Chuck and Willie, both made sacrifices of their locks as well. Chuck even shaved his mustache—a permanent fixture on his face since the 80s. Even Willie’s son Christian shaved his head in honor of my mom. Willie also wrote this beautiful song to honor and remember her upon her passing. It still brings tears to my eyes as the memories come flooding back of her courageous last days on this earth.

I started my first garden the year my mom died. Over the years, I’ve learned a lot through my dabblings in local agriculture, but more than anything, I’ve been reminded of lessons she and Dad taught me about planting, growing, harvesting, and hard work. Of course like any kid, I didn’t enjoy the discipline at the time, but I can look back with immense gratitude now.

And within a month of mom saying goodbye, I began to have serious conversations about global poverty and international development withmy longtime friends Jake Harriman and John Hancox. These conversations along with extensive reading and research on the subject, and much prayer, fasting, and wrestling, led me to a significant career change as I joined my friends as they started Nuru International. I’m grateful that I have been able to deepen my service to others, and invite more people to confront the crisis of extreme poverty in our world. I really wish mom could have been here to see what we have been able to accomplish in the five years since she died, but I am incredibly grateful my dad has been here cheering us on in this work.

And a little over a year ago, I got married. I wish my mom could have spent more time with Jamie. She’s absolutely incredible, and I think they would have absolutely loved each other. They are two of the best examples I know when it comes to compassion and caring for people around them.

And then there’s my sister. She left a ten year job at a doctor’s office to start a new career this year. Not only that, but my sister has become quite the runner. It seems like every weekend she is getting a new trophy or award for her running exploits. Since the year my mom went to be with Jesus, Becky has led our family in participation with the Wood County Relay For Life. Mom was never able to attend—the first year, she was in ICU. Little did we know she would be leaving so soon. And Becky had her own bout with cancer in 2007 too. Just a month after mom’s parting, she had a malignant melanoma removed. She’s a survivor.

Dad was walking twelve miles a day, and riding his bike 20-30 miles 2-3 times per week after mom died. And then in 2009, he had a massive heart attack. It was utterly unexpected. Dad has always been healthier than most people half his age. Since that attack he doesn’t walk twelve miles a day anymore, but he is probably in better shape and eating better than ever before. As much as we kids miss mom, Dad lost his best friend of 43 years. Dad continues to be an example of generosity and compassion to others too. He supports Becky at virtually every race she runs, and he maintains his garden the way he has done for years and gives away significant portions of its bounty.

My brother, well he is still working in the same job, but his level of responsibility keeps increasing. He’s an extremely talented engineer. And he lives and loves sacrificially with his time. He’s up at 430AM virtually every day to drive himself and several coworkers to work and stays up late to make sure dogs are walked and chores are done. And further, his son has graduated high school and is a student at Notre Dame (not WVU, but still not a bad education).

And in the last five years, each one of us has grown in our faith as well as in our service to others. My dad just recently took the steps to join his church and was baptized the same day.

On Mom's last trip to the hospital, my sister, dad, and I spent the day with her, and I left the hospital to drive to Morgantown to receive my MA in English. I leaned down to hug her and told her, “I’ll try to make you proud tomorrow mom.” As I stood up, she looked at me with her eyes filled of compassion, as she breathed deeply from the oxygen tube running under her nose. She smiled and said, “Every day you make me proud.” Those words echo in my mind every time I think of her. She loved each one of us well, and she showed us by example, even during her last days, how to love the people who cross our paths in seemingly random ways.

I wish mom was still with us, but one day we will reunite with much rejoicing. And until that day, we will labor, and dedicate the remainder of our days to love God and love others well, and to work to serve our neighbors both locally and globally. I know that if she were here, she would continue to be so proud of each of us. I know she would be cheering us on alongside Dad, and she would be cheering Dad on as he maintains his health and faith so well.

Wherever and whoever you are, you have an opportunity today to make a choice. You and I have an opportunity each day to pour out a legacy of hope and compassion, to wisely steward the gifts we have been given, to love well, and to live well. And I pray we may live as an example worth imitating as we walk this earth, just like Mom.

After My Cousin's Work Was Done--My Hair Cut

After My Cousin's Work Was Done, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

Well, I've been praying and considering for the past year, whether or not to cut my hair back to it's length before I was a Christian. I started growing my hair out as a cultural symbol of my Shawnee ethnic heritage, and also as a symbol of my faith in Christ. My ancestors used to grow their hair long as a symbol of freedom, and since Christ set me free from my sinful life, I felt it appropriate to grow my hair to honor my ancestral traditions and celebrate what God has done.

At the same time, my ancestors would often cut their hair as a symbol of mourning and honoring those who had past out of this life into the afterlife. When my mom died last June, I cut my hair significantly to honor/mourn her. As the anniversary of her death approached, I felt like I should have it cut the rest of the way down. My life, and the lives of my family will not be the same with out her. In my spirit, and after much prayer, I feel cutting my hair short was an extremely appropriate gesture.

Beyond this, since the resignation of my chieftainship, which you can read about here, I have been mourning and broken-hearted over the state of my tribe. I could write with profundity about the deep, rich symbolic nature of a Shawnee man cutting his hair, but I believe these few words will suffice.

People who knew me before I was a Christian, will probably vaguely remember me looking this way. People who meet me from now on will probably not know about this story. And many who know me now probably won't get it either. C'est la vie, I guess. Truth is there are stories we all carry that very few people are privy to.

Will I grow it long again? I don't know, I imagine it will be short for quite some time, but one never really knows what will happen in this life. I spent fourteen years of my life with long hair.

For those of you conscientious people who are wondering--the answer is yes--I did donate my hair to locks of love.

And for those of you who have seen me, and have been wondering--as so many non-native people do, "What's up with the haircut?"--now you know . . .

Rise Above

Rise Above, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

This past Thursday evening, my dad and I drove up to our fish camp together to camp out and cut our grass. But that’s not all.

Early Friday morning, we woke up and got on the road, and my hybrid was challenged on some 9-10% grades as we traveled from our camp to Seneca Rocks. It was my second time visiting the state park this week. I think this is one of my dad’s favorite places to visit. There’s something refreshing that happens when you climb to the summit of Seneca Rocks.

Aside from the beautiful view of the valley below, Spruce Knob, and North Fork Mountain, something happens inside. You start to get a little different perspective. Maybe that’s what folks mean sometimes when they talk about a mountain top experience.

You see, I think climbing to the top of those rocks gave me and Dad some fresh perspective (and fresh air!). When you are looking down at the valley below, and see where you’ve come from, you feel like any problems you have are down in that valley too, and they aren’t nearly as big as they once appeared.

We spent a couple of hours on top of the rock, and then the people started coming up. We felt like it was probably time for us to go at that point. As we passed by others on the trail, we both found ourselves wondering if the people we passed would make it to the top. Would they get discouraged and turn around? Would they run out of steam?

Sometimes it seems like the odds are against you as you seek to attain goals. Sometimes problems emerge when you least expect it, and for a moment, it seems they will overwhelm you. There’s something about hiking that trail to the summit that teaches about perseverance too. Step by step, taking our time, we made it to the summit, and then we returned to our car.

Our problems, our fears, our anxieties, somehow seemed less significant and less overwhelming when we returned to the car, and when we eventually returned home. The problems didn’t go away (they rarely ever do) but the perspective and the refreshment we experienced during our brief stay on the mountaintop gave us hope and perseverance.

I think sometimes God gave us the hills so we could rise above our circumstances from time to time to get a fresh perspective—do you need some time on a hill top—even if you can’t go to Seneca, you can experience that refreshment by slowing down and letting Jesus give you the rest that he offers. The problems may still be there, but you will be refreshed and renewed if you take a little time for fresh perspective.

Mourning Hair and Celebrating Tradition

Mourning Hair, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

My ancestors had many traditions that made them unique. Over the last several years I have worked to learn, teach, and share many of them. One of them has to do with hair.

The men of our tribe would grow their hair long as a symbol of freedom. It was meant to reflect the fact that we have an unconquerable spirit, that we are always shawnee, and that we are free.

I used to wear my hair short. Then, on November 12, 1994, I put my faith in Jesus Christ. I became a Christian. I was set free from my slavery to sin, death, and evil. Because I was finally free, it was an appropriate time to start growing my hair. If you've ever wondered, the growing of my hair is both a symbol of my heritage as a Shawnee, and a symbol of the true freedom that Jesus offers each and every one of us when we put our trust in Him.

My ancestors also had another tradition--when a loved one passed on, they would cut their hair as a symbol of their mourning, and as a way of honoring those who went before them.

Saturday, after my mom's funeral service, I honored her in this ancient way. I celebrated our common heritage as Shawnee people. I celebrated her life and mourn her departure from this world as well. Even though I know she is with Jesus, I'm going to miss her dearly--we all are.

I gave the hair that was cut to locks of love so that someone else who is fighting cancer like my mom did can wear it. It's another way participating in this tradition can bless and serve another human being.

Already, people have begun asking about my "new style" so I figured this blog would be a helpful way to introduce people to this ancient tradition I participated in, and it also might explain to many why I wear my hair long in the first place.

Sometimes in our modern world we lose sight and are confused by the diversity of traditions that are out there. We have very little idea or understanding of the swirl of cultures around us. I encourage you today to take some time and learn a little bit about the beautifully intricate world and people among which we live.

Myrrh

Myrrh, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

Yesterday was mom's funeral. You know it was so amazing to see so many of my friends come out and show support for me and my family, and to pay a tribute to mom.

My best friend in the whole world, Willie, was one of the pall bearers. Before the funeral service, he came up and gave me a bag with some small stones in it. I asked him what was in the bag, and he said it was myrrh, and that he had been wanting me to have it for a long time to be able to burn at times when I pray.

When he gave it to me I had a couple of thoughts. I took out one piece of myrrh from the bag for my dad, my brother, my sister, and myself. I explained to my family a little bit about the use of myrrh in Jesus' day.

You see, when Jesus was born, wise men from the east brought him gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The gold reflected Jesus's royalty--He is King of the Jews. The frankincense reflected his divinity--He is God in the flesh. The myrrh symbolized his humanity--Myrrh was used in burial preparations for those who passed away. The myrrh given to Jesus pointed to His eventual crucifixion where He conquered sin and death.

My mom is going to be cremated. I suggested to my family that we each place a piece of myrrh on her body, and it would be one last way we could annoint and honor my mom. As she is cremated the myrrh will burn and we will have honored our mom in a very special way. We each placed the myrrh on her body solemnly and reverently before her funeral service saturday afternoon.

As I thought about these special preparations, I realized that my mom was also blessed as my sister, her best friend, and my sister-in-law had a special evening with my mom the last night she was in this world. They took fragrant lotion and moisturized mom's skin with it as they shared a "girls night" with her. I don't think any of us realized what they were actually doing that night. They were preparing mom's body in a similar way to the woman who poured out the spike nard on Jesus. What they did was a good thing, and it deserves to be told again.

We're all going to miss my mom, but I'm glad that each one of us could honor her in some very ancient and special ways. She is a beautiful lady, and we have been blessed to be able to serve and honor her in beautiful ways even after she has departed from us.

May we all remember those who have gone before us, and live faithfully honoring the One who went before each of us to conquer the sting of death and give us victory and life eternal.

Off To Be With Jesus

Off To Be With Jesus, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

Yesterday at 1:10PM, my mom left her body on this earth, and went to be with Jesus. My brother had spent the night in her room with her, and called the rest of us to come down because she wasn’t being real responsive.

We came down and sat with her from about 9AM on. We prayed with her and talked with her, and told her how much we will love and miss her. We shared memories with her as she lay there before us. One by one, aunts, uncles, cousins and close friends gathered by my mom’s side and spoke words of love to her. She was sent off with prayers and words of love from so many people. (As I tried to recount this to you, I started weeping because it was such a beautiful experience, and I can’t fully convey to you in this brief blog exactly what was happening in my mom’s presence.)

Her room was packed. People were trailing out the hallway. She was loved by so many people. We’re all going to miss her, but we were all mixing tears of sadness with tears of joy in that room as we spoke to my mom. My mom is with Jesus right now. She doesn’t have cancer, or arthritis, or any number of other ailments that were afflicting her. She has joy unlike any we’ve ever experienced.

Watching my mom pass out of this world and into the presence of God, I am so thankful that we are a people of hope. The gospel allows us to persevere in hope for a day when there are no more tears, no more hunger, and all of the injustice in the world we see will be made right.

My mom is gone, but she has left a wonderful legacy and challenge to us as a family as we attempt to imitate her faith, hope, and love—and to tell others of the joy she, and we, have found in joyful surrender to King Jesus.

I’ve had a great deal of technical difficulty communicating with people over the last day, but I figured I might be able to use this blog as a starting point. Even as early as yesterday afternoon, I started receiving emails, txts, AIM’s, and voicemails of encouragement from many wonderful people. It has been unfortunate that I haven’t been able to respond to everyone’s encouraging words, but I am so thankful for your kindness, your prayers, and your support in this difficult time. It’s beautiful to see how the Church rallies at times like this to love and care for those in need and to bear one another’s burdens.

I know some are wondering about arrangements, and I would like to communicate that through this blog. The details of her obituary can be found by following this link and clicking on Patricia Ann Williams (that's Mom!). You can even sign an “online guestbook” through the funeral home.

I’m tremendously grateful again for the grace God has shown my family throughout my mom’s battle with cancer. As she told a fellow believer when they were both diagnosed—“No matter what happens, we win!!!” Indeed we are more than conquerors!

Thanks for continuing in support and prayers for me and my family. Please forgive me for an apparent lack of response, but I truly do appreciate your comments, emails, AIMs, txts, and voicemails. They are a blessing to both me and my entire family.

Mourning Dove

Mourning Dove, originally uploaded by chanchanchepon.

I was sitting on top of Dorsey's Knob and I had just gotten off the phone with my best friend on the planet, Willie, and I saw this bird fly by me. It landed in a tree about five feet away.

It was a mourning dove. I don't know a lot about mourning doves except that they are also called raincrows. That was my old chief's name.

I don't know if you believe in such things, but I kind of felt like God might have sent that bird to me to let me know that I'm not alone and that everything is going to be alright.

That little bird was such a comfort to me that afternoon. I can't really explain it, but when I left that hilltop, and I left that bird, I felt tender but comforted. It was beautiful.