Sunday, May 5, 2013

For The Birds

I think birds dance in their underwear.

Last night was one of my many don't-fall-asleep-at-all nights...the kind where you are in and out of bed every 20 minutes for the whooooole night. I have come to know them well and to see the signs early on that it's gonna be one of "those nights." From this manic part of my life (yes I am bi-polar, which if you know me well you may find yourself muttering "well that explains a lot.") often comes my best creative ideas and in the middle of the night is when God will speak to my heart through prayer or reading The Word. I have learned to whisper in the true desperation of an insomniac "speak Lord for your servant is listening," or in less in-control moments when all I want to do is sleep....I have been known to look to the heavens and say "whaaaaaat???"

I had one of those nights last night. I jotted down every thought, blog idea and made a laundry list of all I needed to do next time we were on The Rez in an effort to find why I was up....what I was supposed to not miss in the middle of the dang night. Nothin'. So I did what every good soldier in the war on this terror called insomnia has learned to do. I made a latte' at 3 a.m. Actually, oftentimes that will do the job. Sorta like a hyper kid being given uppers to negate the hyper. I like to explain this phenomenon when it does not work by using the technical phrase "whatever."

But at 4:44 this morning....I stepped out onto my front porch. It was still totally dark, but I sure thought I heard a bird singing....and so I stepped outside. I expected to hear the sound of a lone bird...I had heard this before. But this was different. This sounded like dozens and dozens of birds...birds with a beautiful song, clear and strong...lifting their voices to the crescent moon...performing just for me. Or so I thought. Then a picture came to me so clear that I thought for a moment, in my now-latte-induced insomnia, that I could see him. David. David so full of love for his God and joy in his Spirit that he danced in his ephod before Him and His Angel Armies. Couldn't even wait to get dressed....just danced and sang and wrote love poems and worshiped in his priestly underwear. Perhaps the birds weren't singing to me, but their abandon and confidence in the Creator was something he let me in on for a few minutes.

Birds who had no idea if they would find a worm that day for breakfast, who weren't worried about what they would make their nests out of or if their feathers were prettier than the bird next door. To me they seemed so excited about the sun coming up and a new day dawning....that they couldn't even wait for that actual moment to occur. They didn't wait to get dressed. They danced in their underwear.

So there I stood on my porch in my holey pajamas....(that's holey not holy), closed my eyes, raised my hands and saw David dance in the sounds of the birds. Oh God, let us seek only to please you, to offer you our praise even in the dark, even at odd times...even when everyone around us might look at the tattered and torn nest of our life and say "that is one crazy bird." They can't hear the sound of you singing over me...but I can. And so I dance.

Friday, May 3, 2013

Lifting The Light

This has been one of our most read posts and we are reprinting it with a little updating in both text and images. Please take a moment and read the "letter" God gave me a year ago. It was all Him. I can't take credit for a single word. As Mama T (Mother Theresa) used to say..."I am a pencil in the hand of a writing God sending a love letter to the world."

Whiteclay, Nebraska is a town of approximately 14 residents and 4 liquor stores. The first one conveniently sits 250 yards from the border of the "dry" Pine Ridge Indian Reservation; a reservation that has been shattered into a million little pieces by the ravages of alcoholism.  If Whiteclay could read...I might send it an e-mail something like this....


Dear Whiteclay,

You don't know me...and sometimes I wish I didn't know you. But I have walked your streets, talked to your homeless, slept in your zip code, and prayed in your fields. I know you perhaps better than you know yourself. You're not fooling anyone. You fly the flag of capitalism (and when no one is looking you salute it), defending yourself all the way to the bank. In the way that matters to you, you are successful. In the way that matters to anyone who has seen you at are the equivalent of
twist-off-top atomic bomb. They hand you a few dollars and you hand them destruction as complete as Hiroshima...only no one comes back to rebuild the nation.

The first time I met you, you frightened me, I'll admit it. I locked my car doors, didn't make eye contact and set my GPS to find the corner of "get me the hell out of here" and "what was I thinking?" I was kinda hoping I wouldn't run into you again, but it seemed everywhere I turned on the Pine Ridge Reservation I met people who had visited your house.  What kind of neighbor, knowing the house next door was made of flammable material, would pour gasoline on it...and light a match?  

But here's the deal. My God is here to put you on notice. I believe there are spirits in the invisible realm. I believe some are so petty that a thousand of them could fit in my shoe. I also believe some are huge, having fed themselves on injustice and evil for many generations. They have gorged on unforgiveness and fear and washed it down with hopelessness. When they open their wings they cover an entire valley....or an entire First Nation.  There is a darkness to their shadows that lingers.

But there is a renaissance afoot; a revolution marching to the beat of creativity, original language, pride, and in step with God and His Son and The Holy Spirit.  The Lakota people you have tried your best to destroy are determined to be a mighty Sioux Nation again. They are warriors. God made them that way. They know how to stand and fight and they know how to get on their knees...and fight. You are no match for the seventh generation. You are no match for the Cross....and the God of the Angel Armies. You think you are safely surrounded by the cloak of darkness that will hide you...but in reality you are surrounded by armies of light that can only be put into motion when the people pray. And the people are praying, Whiteclay. From the four directions...they are praying.

We may not be able to foreclose on your physical residence, but we can take the streets back and there is nothing you can do about. We will love you right out of the neighborhood. Feed them, clothe them, visit get the picture. You tried more than once to shut down this pool of love, but we are ripping off the "Keep out" sign and jumping in the deep end. As a matter of fact your dark notoriety will be our diving board. For as surely as the world has been stunned by the sight of the shattered spirits you roll into will have no choice but to take notice of the love that pulls them out. Our hands are raised and we are shouting His name...which from what I have come to understand means that you have to go. Shriek, howl, curse....whatever you gotta do. The shadow of the Cross has fallen across your gutters and you have to go.

Pine Ridge will be a City on a Hill...a light to show the way to other nations of First People. And you Whiteclay, the dark room that you are....will have no choice but to give way to the light. For when light enters a room...darkness has to flee. This is your notice. Consider yourself formally served.

All For Him....KC Willis

If you would like information on how you can help us with our work on The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, please e-mail us at or visit Pilamaya.

The Art Part

Pine Ridge has some amazing artists. Below are the few pieces that are available now. If you see one you want just go to Paypal and do a Send Money to me at If the piece does not say sold by the price it is still available. Thanks!!

Joe Pulliam original watercolor "Buffalo Tipi" 6x12 $100

Kevin Poor Bear original pastel 18x24 "All My Relations"  $275

Kevin Poor Bear original pastel "Eagle Rising" 18 x24  $240

Donovan White Eyes DreamCatcher....$125

Kevin Poor Bear Acrylic on canvas  16x20  $250

Merle Locke original watercolor 18x24 framed $280