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November 10, 2009 I have just gotten up from sleep after a night on the job. I made a cup of ice coffee, something I've been enjoying lately, & turned on Iowa public television to wake up & consider the day ahead. "The Way of the Warrior" was the program presently airing. I came to understand it was about the American Indian fighting in various modern American wars. I listened to their story. When it was over I was pensive & wanted to cry. Why do people shut others out because of their nationalities? It makes no common sense. I wish I could wrap my arms around them & tell them what an honor they have to be an American Indian. Maybe this love for them came from Mom who took on the nickname 'Cherokee' for love of the Indian people. The sadness was consuming & I called my chow & heeler mixes to return to my bed to go back to sleep or cry or pray. I just didn't know where this was going. The magnitude of some injustices & the probability of a resolution can be numbing not to mention the fact this problem was from days gone by. I cannot sleep or cry or pray. I don't completely understand what all I'm feeling over a chance program unrelated to the day but I do know it's as familiar as the sleep I'm seeking. It was explained during the running of this program that an exercise performed by some tribes for a returning soldier was to identify with them as they helped them through the ordeal of what they had experienced. In these times we call it ptsd (post traumatic stress disorder) at its extremes. I understood the American Indians' pain of isolation as I watched & listened to their stories. They weren't wallowing in self pity. It was just an honest look at the truth before they went to war, during the war, & their experience after coming home. I saw a spiritual application from my experiences to all I was hearing. One of the native Americans spoke of this time of cleansing they had & how much lighter he felt after ward. I understood the natives mentality not having been accepted by main stream America prior to the war. I understood the 'warrior mentality' instilled from birth, maybe even genetically programmed into them. How they took seriously the call to honor & bravery. I also understood coming home after giving their all to the same mentality that isolated them as a people prior to their active duty. They were only second class citizens as were the black race from the accounts of history. The Body of Christ, as I've experienced it, seems to be stuck in this mentality toward a class of Christians that are on the fringes for what ever reasons. How they long to be accepted, encouraged, nurtured, covered, valued. Not raised above but being a part. I can only come to this.. Jesus knows. The sadness is gone as I once again see He is in control. Thank God for the hour we live in & the confidence He will have a church without spot or wrinkle as the scriptures word it. That is not possible without full blown love in all of its' manifestations. Note: I was sitting at the computer yesterday (or the day before) & looked out my side window past two farm buildings at a small section of blue sky. (Blue skies were always an encouragement to me. An inspiration of sorts). Strangely the following thought didn't seem to be coming from me..It will be over soon.
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