A group from our church has been going to Watonga for the past seven years, I've been told, and this is the fourth year I've been involved.
We go to Watonga because it is where St. David Pendleton Oakerhater based his ministry to his fellow Native Americans in Oklahoma. This small town remains the home of our church's ministry to Native Americans.
We started setting things up between 6:30 and 7. People worked together very well, and were assertive about asking for help as needed. When it was suggested that we accomplish just one more task before we ate supper, I became assertive. My blood sugar was low, and protein and some carbs were required - stat!
We went out for pizza, which definitely balanced out my blood sugar. As we were eating, the restaurant's TV began running severe weather alerts for the area. A major system seemed to be moving towards us; in fact, we could see extremely black clouds through the restaurant's north-facing windows.
Most of us had finished eating by this point, and returned to the motel, which was just a short walk away.
I decided to sit on the hood of my car and watch the system as long as possible. As I was sitting there, a young man approached and started visiting with me.
The young man appeared to be of Native American heritage. He was in town, it turned out, for the wheat harvest. He was originally from Iowa, but now lives in northwestern Kansas. He follows the harvest circuit from Kansas through Oklahoma to Texas and back north to the Dakotas.
We watched the storm clouds to the north. I saw a lightning flash as we visited. The young man reported that the harvest in the Watonga area was not good - the rains had come too late.
He mentioned that he preferred his new home in Kansas to his home town in Iowa. When I asked him why, he said the people in Kansas seemed more down to earth. Then I asked him for an example.
He looked directly ahead, at the ever-darkening clouds. "It's like this," he said, "A couple years ago, I went back to spend Christmas with my family. My dad wanted me to attend Midnight Mass with him. I stopped having any use for church a long time ago, but I agreed to go, in order to please him."
The young man had dark hair that reached to the bottom of his collar. His muscles and upper body made clear he did hard manual labor for a living, but his clothes and appearance were clean.
"After the service, the preacher came up to me and chewed me out for being poorly dressed for the service. I told him, 'Look, I didn't come here for you. I came here to make my dad happy.' My dad was behind me; he was talking about me to all his friends. You could tell from his expression that he was proud of me.
"'See,' I said, 'I came here for him.'"
We had never exchanged names. I felt honored that he had shared this personal story with me. He didn't know I was in town for a church-related activity. He probably didn't notice the Episcopal shield – which includes a cross – on my rear window. He trusted me with his story. There was only one true response to the story:
"Good for you!"
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