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Upon Their Hands They Will Carry you
Page 55


Picking Up Dewdrops

A remarkable thing was happening and we were too busy picking up dewdrops during our morning prayer to even realize what it was. That which was of a Higher Intelligence walked into our lives to put that natural order all ready in place at our disposal.

Kemy and Rhonda, as the two engaged in blissful play, should have been a beginning of wisdom for us. If there had been a place to stop for analyzing possibilities we would have awakened to the power in our hands. Strength of character is built in just this way of someone learning from childhood how to care for a person who is weaker.

It didnít matter though how simple our thinking; that of mopping floors, cooking, cleaning, schooling and so on and so forth. All the family, too many to mention from all sides stepped forth at one time or another to help in small ways and in very crucial circumstances.

Rhonda was the hub of so great a family and my dear uncle who had already seen the fire of death on the island of Iwo Jima was wise to the way of deathís angels. This was not Uncle Dennis, Dadís brother, but Uncle Dan, Motherís brother.

Uncle Dan was always there for us with a light hearted way about him. He loved to joke about our chickens with a chuckle and say, "Hmmm looks like frying size to me!" Or about the pet goats, "You know they eat goats in Mexico!"

He owned a prize pick-up he loved and I was the only one who could borrow it for this or that project.

"Did you wash and sweep out my truck?" He loved to joke with me, but it was only half a joke. He was neat to a fault.

We abstained from the holidays and what a blessing that was. With the weight of our struggle, sometimes the immediate despair on us in a daily way didnít allow a wait for any particular time to go to the lake, have a small dinner party, or meet with friends at any time, not just on a holiday.

These activities were at our disposal and as close as the telephone for putting this or that social into place. This part of my training was a shared learning. One going to the boarding school, Chilocco, which was established with military ethics and my fatherís Christian beliefs. These teachings telling of a daily warfare against forces of darkness was the greatest blessing and it sustained us.

Only occasionally someone would ask, "Whatís the occasion? Is it someoneís birthday?" Whose cake and ice cream?"

"Oh no special occasion." The answer was usually disappointing and some might pursue the issue.

"Humph! Never heard of having cake and ice cream for nothing."

Even the children were kind enough not to comment about how much the questioning guest enjoyed themself. Our fight had to be done with an immediate vigilance and our enemy, depression, must be met with an opportunistic attitude. Sadness was like a looming nasty beast ever breathing down our necks. Not a day must go by without appreciating the simple and beautiful things in the world around us.

So it was the thing to be given to the family, extended and even into the tribe. Maybe we were and we were too busy picking up dewdrops during our morning prayer to see what was happening around us. Those who were observing, seeing what we were doing with our own were quiet or if they did talk about us they certainly were careful not to let us hear. If we had been students of archeology what a tale we could tell. All the elements of change, intrinsic cultural overlapping, introduction of new values into an established old one was going on and we didnít even know or understand anything like that. Our only wish was to see to the care of a child who we loved and was part of us.


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