Field Trip to Marshall Pics!

So for some reason, the blog doesn't feel like uploading my pictures from Marshall. But my online webphotos did, soo just follow this link to get them and hopefully I'll have them on the side like my other albums soon enough. Thanks for reading! :)

http://picasaweb.google.com/Elyse.Wagner/MarvelousMarshall?feat=directlink

Field Trip to Marshall Rozdzielają Siedem

If today you hear God's voice, harden not your hearts. - Ps 95

Although I was scheduled to leave Monday morning, my plane was cancelled leaving me in Marshall for an extra day. When Grandfather Alvin had heard that the flights were cancelled, he surprised me by calling me to ask if I wanted to come sit with him. Of course I graciously and joyfully accepted his invitation and went right over.

As soon as I walked in a huge grin stretched itself across his face, got up from his wheelchair, and said, "come". Alvin brought me to his back wall where all of the pictures of his family were. He introduced me to all of their names and faces, paying particular attention to his wife. Then we sat back down and it was again time to listen to his wise words.

Without much hesitation he began to speak about a matter very close to his heart. "The biggest mistake in my life that I ever made was not telling my children how much I loved them and showing them affection." I was a bit amazed but very grateful that he was so open with me so soon. Alvin said how hard he worked all of his life, worked multiple jobs, and always ensured that his family had money and the things they wanted to buy with it. His kids were the first kids in Marshall to have bikes. He explained that he never wanted his family to ever need anything he couldn't provide for. And though he tried to display his concern for their well-being through material things, he never expressed them verbally or with open affection.

What made this way of living a regret was when his adopted son killed himself. In a very difficult conversation about this tragedy, one of his daughters asked him why he never told them that he loved them. He said that he told her that he gave her everything. But when she responded that what they needed was him, his presence, and the understanding of his love, he felt the shadow of regret shade his memory. He thought that if he gave his children no reason to steal or complain or feel unprovided for, then they would happy, loved and moral.

Then I shared with Alvin that he is not the only one who speaks this dialect of love language. Coming from an Irish and German background, not that a stereotype should be an excuse or create an unnecessary reality but, sometimes people in my family love like that. JVC has coined the term "love language" for me and makes a lot of sense that people communicate and know how to love very differently. Unfortunately when things get lost in translation, it can be much worse than saying that you are a jelly donut. Learning how to love and then communicating that is quite the lifetime achievement, and Alvin expressed how thankful he was now to have a second chance with his grandchildren.

Alvin then moved on to say how deciding whether or not to listen to the Western values or to his own Native culture would come into crossroads. His aunts in town had tuberculosis, and normally he would be the one to change their water and bring them more fresh buckets of it from the well. However when his teacher heard about him doing this, she told him not to because then he would get TB. His grandfather conversely told him that they were family and he had a duty to care for them. Alvin ultimately ended up continuing his aid to his aunts. He said that he did it because it was family (and his grandfather would have scolded him) and because he said he just lied to his teacher about it and thus also got her approval. He giggled and said, "well she would never know!"

He elaborated by saying how he didn't hate the West or the white-man because they brought him a useful view on self-respect in not letting others take advantage of him and feeling the confidence to go out and do. He presented such a fascinating outlook on forgiveness of oppression by his genuine appreciation for the good that he has found and how he has used it to be more proud of his own culture.

Then Alvin began to wonder about the struggles Americans and those world wide go through no matter what your race is. He told me the unfortunate story about his brother. He, like many young men in this part of Alaska, joined the Army and was sent to Vietnam. When he returned, like many, was never the same. One assignment stayed with him until his death. One night he was chasing two gunmen who ran into a house with children inside of it. He was under orders to kill these gunmen whom they had been chasing diligently. Thus because he was assigned to kill these men, he and the soldier with him opened fire on the house and killed all or most inside. Alvin's brother suffered from severe PTSD. Upon his return he felt out of place back in Marshall and moved to Anchorage. He became an alcoholic, homeless, and sadly the two contributed directly to his death. May he rest in peace.

After a moment of respectful silence, I changed gears and asked him how he first knew that he loved his wife. When Alvin was little, his grandfather told him that animals could smell the scent of a woman on him and would stay away, so if he wanted to be a great hunter and trapper, he had to stay away from girls. This didn't bother him for years, but when those formative teenage years came, he began to. He also began to question this supposed fact. Then when Alvin was twenty-two , his grandfather was dying. His grandfather then told him that he should get married. No longer confused, now having the wisdom of age under him, by his grandfather's words he knew just the girl.

He had met Agnes a couple times, but when he saw her after the passing of his grandfather, he asked her if she had a boyfriend. Luckily for Alvin, she was single. As he told me this, he lifted up his arms in a hearty laughter and said, "I guess I just fell in love!" They married the next year. They were married for thirty-five years until she died of cancer. He attributes the success of his children to her because she constantly taught them the Native ways and the Catholic faith. "She was very special, my first and true love."

A little later, Alvin said that he hopes and knows that kids can learn from me the ways of Christ. They're not longer getting the lessons in these ways from their parents. When I asked why this was, he said that they have become too preoccupied with other things and distractions like TV, sports, and competition. Competition, in spite of Adam Smith, was and is what is killing the values and spirit of Marshall, according to Alvin. They're too worried about having the kids involved in other things and some do not know how to handle theirs or other's alcoholism. Alvin worries that people have gotten too much of an "us vs. them" frame of mind, where they're not concerned about raising the children in the faith.

People have been loosing their native ways because life has gotten harder in ways they were not accustomed to and people have been moving away breaking apart the family structure that is so central to their culture. Now that people have gotten used to modern conveniences, but now it has become so expensive that they it's hard to keep living as such, and they don't know how to go back to the way it was. Alvin said that in spite of this, he really enjoys his TV and indoor plumbing.

It was eventually time for me to go because I had to be at the church because Slaviq was going to come that evening. I told Alvin how grateful I was to listen to him and simply sit with him. He smiled and giggled again saying that he will find a way to get me back here and that he was going to call the Bethel church or the bishop. I said that I would love that and would be anticipating seeing him and everyone again. As I gave him a hug goodbye I felt like I was leaving a little sadder but would be coming back to Bethel a lot richer.

His granddaughter Caitlin, a girl of about nine years of age, followed me back to the church and spent the rest of the afternoon preparing with me and just spending time. She was just as precious as her grandfather. At one point she looked down at my hand and asked me about my claddagh ring, so I explained its history and my Irish-ness to her. Then she took her heart ring off of her finger, turned it around, and said, "see I'm single too". Later on I brought down my veil as the Slaviq service was getting ready. When Caitlin saw it she got so excited, so I put it on her. I let her wear it throughout the service, and when I had to take it back from her at the end, she said she wanted to wear one just like mine when she was older. I hugged her tightly and prayed that she would.

In the timeless words of Shakespeare, "parting is such sweet sorrow", I had to say my goodbyes. Though it was not as I had thought it would be. They were sad to see me go and I was sad to leave them, but when we actually said our goodbyes there in the church, it was as if we would see each other tomorrow. In fact they said that they couldn't wait to see me again, and I said the same. I was grateful that I had gotten ill on this trip because when they saw and I saw in myself how happy I was to still be with them and to experience Slaviq in both its pleasures and pains, it made my presence there more real somehow, for me and for them as they spoke to me about how glad they were that I stayed. The kids and adults alike started giving me all kinds of ideas and reasons why to come back both in the near and distant future. I thought how endearing it was and also how possible it is.

I am uncertain of how to end this final reflection on my trip to Marshall. All of what I experienced was so simple, yet so powerful to me. As I have learned from this year, so much depth can come from simplicity. I don't think that the people of Marshall realize how in touch they are with the powerful and simple act of sincerity, but I could see that they are. From their heartfelt decorations around the icons that were made and hung in every house to the tradition Alvin told me about of burying the feathers of the birds that they hunt to respect the wilderness, that sincerity was there.

It was a Christmas season with no Santa Claus decorations. Rather, it was a Christmas season adorned with icons and so forth of Our Lady and Our Lord. It was a Christmas season with little to no presents. Rather, it was a Christmas season full of presence, presence of family, of faith, and of community unity. It wasn't a Christmas season like that of my past. Rather, it was a Christmas season I know I'll make part of my future.

So in a way I pass the ball to you, my faithful readers. As true with so much service, the one "serving" ends up getting more out of the experience than the ones being served. As St. Francis reiterates,"it is in giving that we receive". In this case it caught me off guard how much I got out of going to help start up a confirmation class. Where can you enter into intimate service where you are? Or even more so, how far are you willing to go to achieve it, to share in the solidarity of service? I pray that whenever you hear the call, harden not your hearts.

In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that He loved us

and sent His Son as expiation for our sins. - 1 Jn 4:10.

Field Trip to Marshall 第六部分

What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him...Among human beings, who knows what pertains to a person except the spirit of the person that is within? Similarly, no one knows what pertains to God except the Spirit of God. - 1 Cor. 2: 9,11

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! The sabbath had arrived and so did the Eucharistic service that I was anxiously anticipating partaking in. Had Angelina not been able to make it, Clara said that I would have gotten to lead it with her. However, I got to lector and help lead them in song, which I was more than happy to do of course. We sang some songs in English, but the ones that we sang in Yup'ik I actually knew! Angelina told me afterwards how happy she was to hear me sing with them.

Modernity and perhaps Vatican II gave way to women not wearing head coverings during Mass. A few years ago because of an experience during prayer I began to wear one when I prayed privately, during Adoration, or when I would attend a Tridentine (Latin) Mass. It is a symbolic and very personal choice that I make to in a way, shield off my body to this world in order to open up my spirit to heaven. When I saw that Clara and Angelina had head scarves on, I ran upstairs to retrieve my veil. My heart leaped at the unexpected opportunity to wear it without it being an out-of-place distraction. Wearing it while I was on the alter reading the Word of God almost seemed like a moment of a clash between conservatism and liberalism.

I had never been to a Eucharistic service before. It struck me as I was listening to Clara give her homily how this is what they have almost entirely all of the time. The Holy Mass is such a central part of the practice of Catholicism and though they still receive the Eucharist in a service, I wondered how different the experience of the Liturgy was without being present for the miracle of the Consecration of the hosts. It made my heart sink, to think of how rare it is for them to witness it, to be part of it, to behold it, that miracle so unique to our faith. Yet I became especially thankful that I was wearing my veil during all of this because although the miracle of the Consecration was not present, the miracle of having the Eucharist (and enough Eucharist) there at all certainly was there strikingly. I wore it then, in reverence and gratitude for all who make receiving Him in such a place possible. That too is a miracle we must never forget.

Later that evening there was another Slaviq feed at Clara's house. I met her brother George who just moved back to Marshall after earning his Masters degree from University of Alaska, Fairbanks. He began to reiterate a tradition that I had heard mentioned several times in my duration there: the tradition of the name-sake. When a family member dies and a child is born in that same year, that child takes on the name of the one who passed away. It could be their Yup'ik name, their English name, or a variation of either. It honors the dead and creates a special bond between the two family members.

When George's daughter was born it was the same year that his mother died, so fittingly she became the child's name-sake. They didn't name her the exact Yup'ik name and according to George, they never mentioned it to her. When his daughter was only about two or three, she yelled for her dad to come into the kitchen where she was. After several beckonings, George came into the kitchen asking her what was the matter. She patted herself on the chest and said his mother's name in Yup'ik. When I asked him how she knew, he and the others around responded, "because she was young, she was more in touch with her name-sake. They just know. They always know".

It made me ponder on the presence of God not seen, not heard, not understood. How God chooses to connect and show Himself to us is forever a mystery, a great one at that. I pray to be more open to, in the words of St. Ignatius, find God in all things.

Field Trip to Marshall Deel Vijf

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years. - Mark Twain

The sickness had finally passed. I was so grateful that I wasn't taken out by it for too long. Luckily also, that day was when Slaviq was coming to Clara's house. So at the usual 2:00pm, I headed over there to see the Star, as they would say. When I got there I hadn't really expected to meet many more people. To my surprise, I got to meet one of the loves of my life.

He was shorter than I, round, wore glasses and suspenders, spoke with a bit of a lisp due to his lack of teeth, was bald, and was born in 1934. His name was Alvin. If any of you have seen the movie The Holiday, he reminded me much of a Yup'ik version of the character Arthur. So obviously, it was love at first sight. Then when I found out that he was Clara's father I was all the more excited to get to know this infamous man. Like a child at her grandfather's knee, I listened to the stories of his life...

Alvin was born in Marshall in 1934. When Marshall was founded, much like many villages in rural Alaska, it was a gold mining town. "To find gold. That's why the white-man came, with his saloons, schools, hotels, and such. But when there was no more gold, they left." The town was voted "dry" (meaning that it is illegal to buy, sell, or drink alcohol) decades ago, so the saloons and hotels are no longer present. Other than the houses, there is the school, the Post Office, the two churches, and a pool hall.

When Alvin first went to school there were only nine kids in the whole school. At that time, almost none of the natives spoke or knew any English. But because Alaska was a US territory at the time, the only language to be taught was English run by the government. Their ability to conquer the language barrier still astounds me. Yup'ik, for the most part especially at that time, was not a written language and had no alphabet. Yup'ik has many sounds that English does not and is a soft palette language. So going from only speaking a very unique language to learning to read, write, and speak English (one of the most difficult languages to learn) is amazing. What made learning English even more difficult is that they would still only speak Yup'ik in the home, so they couldn't ask their parents for help in that regard.

Alvin said that when his younger brother came into his class and didn't speak any English, he didn't know how to ask to go to the bathroom. Because of this and the strictness of the teacher, his poor little brother wet his pants in class. Not wanting this embarrassment to happen again a few days later, Alvin tried explaining in a whisper how to say ask to leave in Yup'ik first and then in English during class. When his teacher caught him speaking Yup'ik, she grabbed her ruler and struck Alvin. She scolded him telling him that his language was forbidden. He told me that in that moment, he never wanted to speak Yup'ik again.

The a couple years later when he was hunting with his grandfather at their cabin in the woods, a white-man came asking him how much money their mink furs were. What Alvin told me I must understand was that their people did not have money or anything like it before the white-men came. So even when he was a little boy, it was a foreign thing to wrap his mind around when it was introduced. Because his grandfather didn't speak English, Alvin translated for him (at this point he was trilingual in English, Yup'ik, and "the language of the Northern People" as he put it).

Not knowing how to respond to the sale of the mink fur, the grandfather decided that they would take what he thought was best and the money that he had. Giving the grandfather lots of bills but a low amount, he thought that he had made a great deal. He received $40 for eight mink furs. Most unfortunately later when he heard that his brother sold one mink fur for $60, they both knew they had been cheated. Alvin then learned all the more that day how well he now not only needed to learn the language of the white-man but his ways and dealings as well.

Having heard him speak Yup'ik sitting at table, I asked him what brought him back to his native tongue with such a history of suppressing it. Firstly, he said that he married a woman who didn't speak any English, but that wasn't the main reason because she eventually learned English from the children learning it at school. What really brought him back to Yup'ik was the Native Seminary that Fr. Chuck founded and ran in the 1970's. Unfortunately it did not last very long and was not successful in coming out with any native priests, but it did produce a few deacons, which is what Alvin became. He saw that they needed a translator for those who spoke no or only broken English and with his talents and skills in language, he knew he was called to help out in this way.

This was initially a bit easier said than done. He had forgotten some of it and correct ways of saying things sometimes. So his wife came with him to the classes and helped him there and back at home. One day, they were talking about the afterlife, heaven, purgatory, hell, and all of that. Alvin started laughing as he told me that instead of saying something like, "you should all learn about hell", he ended up saying, "you all should go to hell". His wife immediately grabbed him and whispered what he had said and she helped him correct him. Joyful gratitude was in his eyes as he then said that if it weren't for his wife and the seminary, he would have left his native tongue behind altogether.

"Speaking of funny miscommunication," he began to tell the story of one of his daughter's first time in Anchorage. She went to go visit her brother who moved there when she was young. It was her first time ever out of Marshall. Having seen both towns myself, going to Anchorage would be a big shock. Obviously she had never seen a paved road, let alone a cross walk before. When they went to cross the street cars were coming and the sign under the traffic light was blinking the red hand "Do Not Walk". Perhaps she couldn't read or see what the words on the sign were, so she started running out in the middle of the road with all of the cars towards the traffic light. Her brother screaming for her to get off the road eventually makes it over safely as his seemingly crazy sister and asked her what she thought she was doing. She said, "well the hand looked like it was waving 'hi!' so I followed it".

Alvin elaborated stating how his son loved the city but his daughter hated it. The Yup'ik people are built to stay connected to each other; it's part of their culture and structure, the young learning from the family elders and carrying it on to their young. Such structure is hard to keep with modernity seeping its way into this family centered culture.

We did Slaviq until the late hours. You usually go out from 2pm-midnight, which is what I did my first day. I didn't stay out until midnight because I stayed at Clara's to help clean up and watch a home movie of Yup'ik dancing from ten years ago. Evidently the eighties hair styles even made their way up to Bush Alaska.

I loved listening to Alvin speak. He had such a sweetness to his voice and would giggle "hehehe" and then sigh out and extended "yeeah". His sweetness is hard to grasp in written form mostly because he told about such terrible wrongs done to him that were also so deep in symbolic value of the wrongs done to his people. I'm more used to hearing such stories with bitterness or even accusation towards me because I am light skinned. None of that was present in Alvin's tone, his voice, his facial expressions, or body language. In this amiable temperament I would learn later on that it came from forgiveness, forgiveness in many forms.

Field Trip to Marshall Teil Vier

He who knows how to suffer will enjoy much peace. - The Imitation of Christ

Deep into the long hours of the late evening and early morning, I found myself somewhat pathetically lying on the floor or next to the toilet. Name a condition of the flu, and boy did I have it. I was running a fever so I didn't realize how cold it had gotten. Because of the cracks in the building and because the winds were so severe, the building became a chilly 50 degrees making the thermostat alarm go off at 2am. I was able to get in touch with Clara and she told me how to adjust the heat. Despite the indoor temperature, it was still about 100 degrees warmer in there than outside!

When the later part of the morning came and my illness hadn't changed, I called Clara asking her if she had any medicine. She went to the store and came over right away bringing anything and everything she could think of that might make me feel better. Remembering again my grandmother, who was a nurse, I was comforted by Clara's intense maternal nature. She said to me, "family takes care of family. And I am your family out here". Apparently one can have many families over a lifetime. Later I talked to my other family, my Jesuit Volunteer family, and missed them terribly.

I didn't feel better until later in the evening, but when I felt well enough to walk down the stairs, I went into the church and sat alone with Jesus, the Healer and Comforter to all. I had one of the most personal experiences of my life with God there that night, too personal to write here I'm afraid. But I was so grateful to go to Him in my weakened state, weakened physically, emotionally, mentally, and even spiritually. For He promises, come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest (Mt 11:28). No matter how many frustrations, burdens, or sorrows we encounter with ourselves, or the people and world around us, if we always go back to resting in the trust of Christ, we will go back to our home in Him.

Field Trip to Marshall Parte Tres

There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28).

My third day in Marshall started out so peacefully and calmly. I only had scheduled my confirmation class meeting with Clara and Deloris, the first Holy Communion teacher, in the afternoon. The morning was mine to meditate. I found a taize prayer cassette tape to listen to as I crocheted a scarf for Clara. As I wrapped the yarn around the hook over and over again, I found myself lost in thought about Bethel, its people, its place in my life, and mine in Bethel's. My JV year has been very different than I thought it would be for a myriad of reasons. It has affected me greatly, as it should and is supposed to. Yet at times I feel lost in the change and then again at times I find more of my true self in the change. Such issues came to the forefront as I had my meeting with these faithful ladies.

I came as prepared as I could with my research on confirmation classes, all of the outlines and handouts of my Youth Group nights that I had written myself, photocopies of activities from various books here, and anything else I could find useful. However no matter how much I prepare for things here, a curve ball is usually ready to come my way. She told me that the only CCD programs that they have are a First Communion class (which they do when the kids are around 8) and a Confirmation class (which is done when the teens are around 15-16). There is obviously no Catholic school and there is no Youth Group, therefore these two classes are the only formal Catholic education in Marshall.

Also, because of Marshall's remoteness there is no clergy that stays there for an extended period of time. There are no deacons and our own Fr. Chuck can only get out there for about a weekend every six weeks. Therefore more often than not, they have no Masses or even deacon services, only Eucharistic services which I learned were lead by Clara and Angelina. Clara, bless her heart, additionally volunteers as the parish administrator while still having a full time job at the school. The entire parish is not only run by volunteers, it is run entirely by women. Clara said to me, "It would be nice to have at least a deacon for Holy Days of Obligation, like Christmas". It made me think back to pleas that I would hear at my home parish back in Murrysville around Christmas season like carpooling and volunteers for decorating the church, which aren't wrong of course. It just put things into a new perspective.

After going over the confirmation materials and implementations of them, we started discussing why people are leaving the church. Clara said how the attendance dramatically goes up when a priest is here, but as mentioned that is rare. She also explained that because a lot of people have children out of wedlock, they feel that they are not as accepted into the Catholic community and that they cannot receive Communion. And because it is a Eucharistic service the attitude then has become, why go? Though I can't say for certain, I would imagine Confession is not only hard because they would only have the opportunity to go every month and a half, but also because with such a sacrament, people often need trust, comfort, and full understanding of the sacrament. These things can be difficult to have for anyone let alone those in an area that feels isolated from the greater Church.

How do you create community? How do you help a congregation feel the extension of Christ's arms through the Church when the arms of the Church leaders are not always physically present to reach out? What do you say to the only four Jesuit priests left in the Y-K Delta that are over-worked, not getting any younger, and having to deal with the sexual abuse cases in our diocese that has officially left it bankrupt? What do you say to a Polish priest, who comes here without being able to speak English and is suddenly put in charge of seven parishes? How do you ease the frustration of the women, who are sometimes the only ones taking hold of leadership and yet are prevented from fully coming into such leadership as a priest solely because they are women? How do I answer them as an ambassador to the Church? What do I tell myself as a Catholic woman bearing witness to all this first hand?

When I came back to Bethel, my JVC area director was here for her visit and meetings with us. When I told her about the women lead Eucharistic service, even before I went into my frustrations, she asked me if I ever felt called to the priesthood. When she pointed out my gifts and passions, we began to wonder if I were a man, would more people ask me if I were called to the priesthood. To be honest I just might guess that they would. Do not misunderstand me, I love the Catholic faith and the Church. But I cannot deny that I'm struggling with this issue and others seriously.

I could and would go on at length about my thoughts on women priesthood, but I will leave that for another time and space. I will say that women priesthood is about more than a "quick fix" to the need for priests. And I will also say that whatever your gender is, we need prayers and guidance for vocations. Even if we didn't have a lack of priests, if just one person did not (for whatever reason) hear or answer the call to enter religious life when it would have been God's will to do so, we would experience a tragedy. I pray to Christ as the Prince of Peace to help guide us to best live out the Church as He envisioned it.

Later that night, though I had planned on going out to Slaviq again, I caught the local stomach flu. I was "man down" for the evening.

Field Trip to Marshall Partie Deux

Christ is born. Glorify Him!

My first whole day in Marshall was pretty much perfect. I woke up at my leisure, watched the sun rise from over the mountains from my window as I ate oatmeal feeling completely at peace. I got a call from Clara telling me that we were going to start Slaviq at 2pm at Sasha and Nick's house down the street, so I put on my winter gear and headed out into the -50 degree weather to begin taking part in their unique custom.

Sasha and Nick were one of the happiest and cutest elderly couples I had ever met. They are the kind of couple that when you meet them, you say a little prayer begging God for a taste of such a collective love and joy should you ever marry. Sasha had on a traditional Yup'ik garments as well as a crocheted Russian hair covering pinned neatly to her silver hair. Nick was a shorter rounder man with eye brows longer than the small patch of hair he had on the top of his head. He had the greatest sense of humor. Everything seemed to make him laugh.

It had been a tradition for many years in my own family to visit the grandmother's best friends, the Egly's, on Christmas Eve. They reminded me so much of this Yup'ik couple. Their warmth, generosity, and sincere welcoming of me, brought me back to the Egly's home as I sat there quietly watching them talk about how much they love their grandchildren and greet everyone walking through the door with such excitement it was as if they hadn't seen them in months. I've missed my Christmas traditions this year and the memories of ones from years past. But sharing this experience with all of them made me not feel like I was home exactly, but more like home was with me. I felt my grandmother there. Taking a deep breath I looked down to gather myself, as I felt a tear glide down my cheek.

As I had previously mentioned in my last post, a connection with deceased ones and a fearless openness to the spiritual world is alive and present in this culture. In true traditional form, the elder Mike started talking with me and telling me stories of his life, his culture, and his Marshall. One story that truly struck me was that of the special gift of his grandfather to see these dead relatives. He said that the spirits were with them always, but extremely present during the holidays (which I had actually been told back in Bethel as well). Mike's grandfather said he wished he could see through his eyes, so that he could see the spirits too. He said his grandfather would be more likely to look into the eyes of the "namesake" or spirit rather than the alive person in front of him. His grandfather taught him to constantly feel connected to all life, this life, the next, and anything to everything in between. Mike looked at me saying, "We really believe this". I looked back at him and said, "I truly believe you". We sat there for a moment in silence, and then more people started to gather in the room.

A group of children came in and Nick invited me over to sit with them. As soon as I sat down a little girl and little boy jumped on my lap asking me dozens of questions. "What's your name? Where are you from? Do you like it here? Who do you know? Is this really your hair? Why do your eyes look like that?" Then the one girl put her head on my arm and I asked her if she wanted to sit with me. Her face lit up as she hopped over the arm chair and sat next to me. She clung tightly to my arm and called me "mommy". Then she began to play with my hair and "style" it. I love having people play with my hair and playing with kids, so I was in heaven. Until I felt a strong pull on my head and looked back at the little girl. "What did you do?" I asked. She said, "I wanted a piece of your hair". All of us laughed.

Then with a kid in my lap, to my left, leaning on my legs, and behind me clinging to me, the room fell silent as the star, spinning cone, and flag entered the house. An elder named Mike explained to me that the spinning cone with represented creation and the world before Christ, the star represented Christ's birth because it was like the star that the three wise men followed, and the flag represented Christ's resurrection and Ascension into heaven. Each had a small icon on them coinciding with their symbolism. The Slaviq had begun.

The leader of the choir motioned all fifty or so of us in this tiny room to start singing. We sang in Russian, Yup'ik and English. When I asked Mike if he spoke all of these languages he looked at me slightly befuddled and said, "of course". As a lover of languages, I was incredibly humbled. The singing lasts for about half an hour with all facing the cone, star, and flag in the front of the room. They go for about a week visiting each home in the town and every home takes turn feeding the people traditional Native foods and sweets. One of my favorite parts was towards the end of the singing where they bless the owners of the house, all in it, and all who had passed away. This was a very emotional segment, as you can imagine, especially for the Yup'ik people.

Afterwards an elder, usually from the home, gives a somewhat of a speech or lesson to all there. Each time they were entirely in Yup'ik, which was a very special sight for me. The elder woman with her head covered and a history of wisdom etched on her face stood up and began to speak to us with such passion and concern. For half an hour she spoke about how sad she was that people were loosing their Native ways and that the young people weren't being taught the importance of forgiveness by their parents. Living in an area of such brokenness and abandonment, I understood why she spoke so thoroughly on forgiveness. She told the youth to listen to the knowledge and advice given by the elders, for it was their way and it had more value than they could find anywhere else. Concluding, she emphasized the importance of going to church, whether Russian Orthodox or Catholic. The absolute necessity for God's Holy Word in our lives was pronounced by her so boldly, that I know even inspired the usual church goers. When she had finished, she sat hunched over with her face in her hands and wept bitterly. Another elder said in English, "she cries in sorrow for the souls of the youth that refuses to change".

I was emotional. I was exhausted. I was grateful. I was officially part of Slaviq.