Moon Blessings and the Great Spirit

I am a Moon Child (July). The moon has always had a special place in my heart and in my life. My most precious moments have been spent in the enchanting moonlight.

Ah, at last—clear skies, a blustery midnight of huge cream-puff clouds and a wide blue expanse of clear sailing for my lovely golden moon. She sails so serenely in the sea of indigo. So beautiful! I am led to leave my window shade high—to allow her mystic light to glow upon my bed as I snuggle deep within my coverings. I believe that there is a special blessing bestowed upon me, if I am fortunate enough to be bathed in her loving glow.

Somehow, she has caused me to remain wakeful and I ponder what her blessing this time might be. Will it be a new love? Good fortune? Whatever it is to be, I will accept it wholeheartedly.

Then, suddenly, I have my answer. She is, first, giving me the urge to write. So I arise and begin. Now, just what else is my lunar blessing? Again, firstly, I am impressed with the thought that this day approaching is a Sunday. That is a blessing in itself. I am always joyous when Sunday arrives. It is a day of glad mingling with the folks I love very deeply. The welcoming smiles and tender hugs mean so much to me. And, too, I learn to love my precious Father just a bit more. To know how deep is His love, gives me a feeling of joy and peace that cannot be described.

And, lastly, my moon blessing is also the realization that "I have it all." I am healthy, happy and blessed with a heart full of love for all who cross my path. "Love is all there is."

The Forgotten Minority

When my maternal grandfather was a young man, he left Germany and went "out West." He met a young half-breed Indian of his own age, "Brownie," and they traded with the Sioux Indians in the Dakotas. He came to know Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, I believe, and probably other famous Indians of that era. He loved them and they respected him.

As I grew up, I came to love and respect those Sioux Indians, too, just from hearing his stories. Today, I do what I can, charity wise, to aid the Rosebud Tribe near Rapid City, South Dakota. They will need warm clothing when bitter cold comes for nine long months in the northern winters. Many have no heat in their homes on the Reservation. Sometimes it can be 50 or 60 below, or even –100 wind chill during their bitter winds. Small children and the elderly often die, freezing to death. Often ten or more people of varying ages live together in one of these small shacks. They need propane stoves in cold weather at night when the temperature falls 50 degrees in less than 24 hours. The ones who use wood stoves need splitters, saws, wood itself and often log transportation. My heart aches for these forgotten people, in the midst of all the wealth and luxury of their white brothers. The attempted suicide rate among the youth is four times our national rate. Could it be from despondency?

Because I have chosen to do what I can for these unassuming Native Americans, I became an Honorary Trustee in 1999 through the executive staff of the American Indian Relief Council. I am happy about that. The executive director is Lorenzo Black Lance. He has written recently that the tribes were again trying to organize a youth camp last summer, hoping to offer those underprivileged kids (maybe as many as two dozen at each of seven week-long sessions) their native culture, tours, arts and crafts, and cooking their simple foods in a cook shack close to their twelve large teepees.

Camping in white America can cost as much as $675 a week per camper. "My" Indians, who are used to poverty, can feed all their counselors and volunteers for less than $3.50 a day. A week for an Indian boy or girl costs just $177.

This may sound like an appeal to readers to be charitable, but my real intent is to appeal to folks to get to know and understand, and have love and compassion for those mistreated and abandoned people who lived in peace "before ever they saw our faces." May the Great Spirit ask you to "walk a mile in their moccasins" before judging those innocent, long-suffering Dakota tribes. They are God's children, too.