Radio Interview
2009 – Dave Tester interviews Joyce Bennett about the economy
Articles by Joyce Bennett
January 9, 2009
A Gift of Love
The last gift was wrapped and ready to go to its new home. Gifts were
piled high all around me and as I sat there, I began to reminisce about
a time that changed my life forever. It was about twenty years ago when
I visited a small village called Low Mountain on the Navajo
reservation. I went to a small boarding school in a remote area and
brought “Santa bags” filled with toys and clothing for families who
needed a little extra help. “Santa” and his helpers personally
delivered these bags along with turkeys and all the trimmings for a
holiday dinner.
We stayed with a Navajo lady, Hazel, who would translate for us when
necessary. She also helped us navigate the rough terrain. Since that
visit, I have continued to visit Low Mountain during the holiday season
along with friends who want to experience the joy of giving.
This is what took place twenty years ago. We had just finished our
“Santa visits” and were on our way back to Hazel’s house, when Hazel
asked us if we could stop to see a family she had recently discovered
who was in trouble. Even though we virtually had no more gifts and
since “Santa” still had his suit on we decided to stop and have him
play with whatever children we found there.
With two sets of tire tracks leading to a small house nestled up to a
hill, we propelled our vehicle through the muddy mixture of snow and
gravel that once had been some sort of road. Cold and hungry dogs
greeted us with wagging tails and others whose tails hung between their
legs, with hearts that were obviously broken by one too many defeats.
Watching the dogs and chickens fight over the last 5-pound-bag of dog
food, we wondered, how they could survive in this desolate place?
We entered this broken-down house through the back door. Standing in
the kitchen, next to the only piece of furniture, a table filled with
chopped wood, was a little girl with eyes filled with wonder and a
smile that was infectious. A boy of about twelve, wearing a shirt that
was too small, stood in front of the living room window that was
covered with plastic. He was smiling and had a sense of excitement
brought on by our appearance. Another boy who looked a couple of years
younger stood very close to him looking apprehensive. There was was
another little one in diapers who seemed perplexed by the activities.
My heart became heavy and filled with pain as I spotted an albino boy
around seven, wearing only a shirt and a pair of shorts and no socks or
shoes. He was standing alone trying to look up, but due to the light
that was coming in through the window, he couldn’t see. I knew
immediately that he was an old soul—someone who was sent here to teach
the world compassion and unity with each other. A woman sat on the edge
of one of the three beds looking down at the dingy wood floors. She
looked very confused and a bit embarrassed by our presence.
The appearance of Santa Claus brought looks of disbelief, wariness and
joy to all of their faces. Santa took his rightful place in a big
overstuffed chair and motioned to the little girl with the infectious
smile to join him. With exaltation she climbed up on his knee and
nestled in his lap. I could tell she felt like a queen and her smile
got bigger when she saw me photograph her with Santa Claus. As I
photographed each child, I could feel my adrenaline flowing and I
became high from the love emitting from all the hearts in the room.
Even though this little shabby house was dim and obscure, there seemed
to be a light that was not coming from outside through the windows, but
from inside, through all of us.
When Santa emptied his bag of the few remaining Golden Books and
stuffed animals, an overwhelming sense of sadness fell upon me as I
realized Santa did not have what this family really needed. Leaving
with heavy hearts and tears streaming down the face of one of Santa’s
helpers, we waved goodbye to the little faces that were pushed up
against the one and only window pane. We knew what we had to do.
Walking up and down the aisles of the little trading post with
$102.50—all the money that we had collectively—the Christmas turkey
dinner with all the trimmings started to appear in our cart, along with
little cars, puzzles, games, coloring books and crayons. Peanut butter
and jelly even found their way into the cart. As we headed back, the
words “over the snow and through the woods to grandmother’s house we
go,” kept going through my mind, connecting me with warm feelings from
the past.
Following the muddy ruts that led to the sounds of drumming and
singing, we stopped in front of what looked like a hogan. Hazel climbed
out of our vehicle and headed towards the small draped opening of the
round, canvassed hut-like building. That was my first of many
experiences at a sweat lodge. A head popped through the draped opening.
Looking very confused as she listened to Hazel, an older woman exited
the little hut. As she approached our vehicle, I was feeling just as
confused as she looked, and I had no idea why we had stopped here. It
became clear after it was explained that this lady was the grandmother,
and head of the family that we were going back to—Grandma Clay. She had
been involved in part of a prayer ceremony held by the community’s
medicine man since early that morning.
The little faces that had been at the window were now hanging out the
door, with eyes and smiles that lit up with wonder and hope as they
watched us stop and unload the brown paper bags. Emotions were high as
these barefooted little angels looked at all the food and toys. Puzzles
were on the floor, toy cars were being pushed around and the peanut
butter was immediately tasted. I felt chills and my eyes filled with
tears. Hazel shared that Grandma Clay had not just been part of the prayer ceremony, she
was the reason for the prayer ceremony. The medicine man, his singer
and drummers, and several people from the community, had been praying
since dawn to the Great Spirit for food for her family.
Disbelief and gratitude covered her face as she looked around the room
at the children playing with their newfound treasures, the turkey and
the canned goods that were sitting on the table, and at us. She was in
awe of how fast the Great Spirit had answered her prayers and looked
upon us as a gift from God. Whether we were manifestations of her
prayers and God’s gift to her, or just Anglos that happened to find
their way on to the reservation, didn’t really matter. What did matter was the love that was exchanged between us and how this experience deeply changed all of our lives.
Affirmation of the Now
I am in charge of my own perspective and I have the power to change it,
even though I may not have the power to change external events.