Mirror Mirror On the Wall

While attending a conference last year, I met a dark skinned woman who told a story that so many in the ballroom had little to no struggle identifying with, I being one of those people.  She told a tale of growing up always feeling she was different from others around her, including those in her own house.  She would look into her father’s face; closely observe the contrast of color as she held her mother and fathers hands, the different features of her siblings.  She’d ask when reaching 7 years of age, only to be told that she was no different than they.  It wasn’t until her parents divorced, and in a both evil and misguided attempt by one of her parents to hurt the other, did the truth come forward.  She learned that she was adopted.

She soon discovered she was Native, that her deeper complexion was  due to the genetic pigmentation of her Native parents, who’d she’d never be able to find, somewhere in Canada.  She spent much of the next 10 years discovering her People, her Tribe, where her roots were planted, ascertaining her culture.  I could not identify with adoption, but I could identify with discovering the roots of culture, the foundation of being, and the essence of existence. 

As I listened to her story, I realized that scattered throughout that ballroom were Natives of many cultures, some who knew their origins and some who didn’t, of various blood lines, and mixed among them, beings of no Native heritage.  It dawned on me that in the room were many confused Indians, and in my family, equally confused Indians.  It also occurred to me that what we see as Native American, American Indian, or just plain old Indian, is rarely reality.  Identity is not something put upon us, it is something we draw from within and reveal to the world of out there.

As I walk this earth, I pass daily those lost souls who have no idea of their identity, of who they are, of where they come from, of who are their people.  They change and adapt and modify and create some form of “I” so that they may find their tribe.  The problem is that many of the tribes we find as home were never ours to belong to, to identify ourselves with.  In the scathed reality of life, we humans much too often compromise our Godly tribe for a manly identity.

You and I, my friend and reader, are members of a Head much bigger than any creation of man.  We are adopted children into the ultimate Family of Man, God’s family of man, through the love of Christ and the sacrifice of our God and Savior.  So, I suppose I can identify with being adopted, as can we all.  Our tribe is endless and doesn’t depend on percentage of blood or heritage qualifications.  I am greatly blessed to be Native, and much more greatly blessed to be Christian. 

Today, remember your tribe, and if you are lost in your identity, wondering your roots, look no further than the soul that rests within you, your true self, and seek His guidance into your identity.  No one walks alone who walks with God, and no one who walks with God need to wonder his identity, for it belongs with his Creator.  Today, remember who you are, from the inside out.

(The writings in this post are random thoughts and observations and are NEVER intended as professional or personal advice. Take what works and leave the rest. For information on mental health and/or substance abuse help, visit http://www.rodneyvalandra.com and refer to the links page.)