| Frybread for the Stew |
‘I hate it....’
Every Sunday morning we went to church. And every Sunday morning, the normal
routine would go like this: Mom would blast the TV right at 8 in the morning with the
sound of the French horn of CBS’s ‘Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt’. This would be
our alarm for us to get up and eat breakfast. After breakfast, we would get ready for
church. At church, we would go to Sunday school first then into the sanctuary where we
would fellowship for a few minutes. After the fellowship we would sit, pick up the hymnal
songbook and sing a couple of songs. After the songs and announcements were over, my
mom would then go into her normal gut wrenching routine.
She would clutch tightly into her Navajo gospel song book, exposing every strained blood
vessels in her hands. Her face would stiffen up as she stared intensely towards the front.
Her skin under her chin would tighten up as she grinded her teeth together. And then with
a big inhale, she would hold her breath until she would hear the frightful words from the
Pastor…’Sister Yazzie, can come up and sing a song for us in Navajo?’. Then in one long
exhale, her body would become relaxed and she would sigh for a moment. Every Sunday
this was expected and I have always dreaded seeing my mom in this state of anguish.
Until one Sunday....... my perspective changed.
It was warm peaceful Sunday morning when my mom and I drove to the all Anglo church
at the edge of town in our old 72’ Ford pick-up truck. I must have been a teenager, since
we went in the pickup. Oh how I use to love driving that old pick-up truck with the stick
shift, building up my arms while turning the steering wheel and timing the clutch and gas
pedals just right, so that the truck didn't jump or stall. If we had taken the car, which was
a chevy, I may have not gone to church that morning. I’m kidding.......... I respected my
mom way too much to miss church. Even though when it meant that I knew all the
answers to life and I needed no religion at the right-old-mature age of 16.
We arrived at the church and the routine started: Sunday school, fellowship, worship, gut
wrenching routine and the calling of my mom to sing. Well, this certain Sunday morning, I
do not remember the song she sang nor do I remember the sermon that was preached, but
what I do remember is what happened after church.
We both sat quietly in the truck as I drove the truck back home. Then my mom broke
the silence and spoke these words ‘I hate it when he does that!......I hate it when he asks
me to sing!’........ I hate it!’. I didn't know what to think. I was surprised! My mom and I
never really talk about anything. I had to say something, because at 16, knowing
everything also meant that I was psychologically inclined. So, I replied back, ‘Then why
do you do it?’ She clinched her fist then she said these words. Words to this day that still
echo in my mind. ‘Because I love him.........because I love him so much, I will do anything
for him......…because I love him so much, I will get up there and sing…......Because I love
him…..Because I love him’.
My mom loved God soo much that she overcame her fears to please God. You see, my
mom was very, very, very shy and dreadfully feared being in front of people - especially
non-Natives, but what she feared more than anything else was - God. Not the kind of fear
that sinks your heart into despair, but the kind of fear that Honors God -The fear of the
Lord. She knew how to fear God and I thank God for that. I am also thankful that my
mom was able to share this moment with me because our communication between us was
almost nonexistence. I will always cherish this moment.
Now I am going to ask you...................How much do you love God?
- 'For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound
mind.'
2 Timothy 1:7 NKJV
With blessings,
Bro. Yazzie
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
To Encourage and Fellowship with Navajo Christians
