Write Before His Eyes

When I was 23 I was a singer in a rock band...hard to fathom, I know...but true nonetheless. The leader of said rock band was impressed with my voice...I won the audition after all...but not so much with many other things about me. He scolded me for laziness, was constantly aggravated over my inability to hear harmonies and was in general...a General. But little by little I began to see that he truly wanted better for me than I was settling for. He was the big brother I never had...my very first mentor before I knew what the word meant. For my 23rd birthday he gave me some light reading by the name of "Sophie's Choice" and I walked through (ok trudged through) my first piece of literary writing. There were books to be read other than The Little House series....who knew! One day he pulled me aside...finally, utterly appalled at my bad grammar and said "One of these days you will be interviewed and you will be mortified at how often you 'talk wrong'." Apparently there was a right way to speak. He proceeded, with my permission, to bring to my attention every instance of my law breaking....

And so for years after I had left that band and was walking through the real word (ok trudging through) I remembered all he had said and this crazy girl began to read everything she could get her hands on and fell in love with language...and writing...and lessons learned.

We lost touch with each other for a long time, but I somehow managed to find him and contact him when in 1995 when I sold a novel to HarperCollins...a little book publisher right down the street from where he now worked as an editor in New York City. He laughed out loud he was so happy (and probably stunned). When "what's his name" ran off with "what's her name" he was one of the first to tell me..."it'll be ok..."you are awesome"..."he's an idiot."  In the summer of 2001 I was in NYC and we had a great lunch together catching up on the years and marveling at how I could now speak without double negatives. A few years ago he wrote me and suggested I try out this thing called Facebook, because the old band members were on there and we could share pictures of our lives. I said ok...I'll try it. He was my first Facebook friend.

Last night my precious, intelligent, funny and true friend lost his wife to cancer waaaay before her time. I know his heart is broken...their daughter's heart is broken. I am so glad that I know about his wife's passing...I am so glad that we reconnected so that I could know this. You are in my prayers my dear friend and I will think of you often in the days to come. You know where I am and you know you are loved. And if I could somehow put it into words the ways you have impacted my life....I would.

A Letter to Whiteclay.....

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 oneconveniently 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....



To: hey-i-am-not-breaking-any-laws@shame-on-you.com



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 work....you 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 them....you 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 ditches...it 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

light-up-the-darkness@ordinaryclaypots.com

All Tied Up And No Place To Go

Reprint from a blog I wrote in 2011...
When I was ten years old I was picked on a lot for some reason. Oh wait...I remember. I was skinny, wore glasses and cried at the drop of a hat. A bully's dream target. On a really cold winter day I was hitting the tether ball with a friend at recess. Actually I should say I was trying to hit the tether ball. Physical coordination and I were not on speaking terms.
 

A couple of tough guys who were in the fifth grade decided they wanted the tether ball and my girlfriend told them they couldn't have it.

Tough Guys:  Get outta here. We're gonna play now.

Best Friend: (in a confident manner foreign to this writer at that age)   Can't have it!

KC: muffled giggle (thrilled with such bravery)

Now keep in mind I wasn't that one who said they couldn't have it. I simply giggled.  But to these boys, who I realized later had insecurities much larger than their bravado, the giggling was the ultimate insult. That and the fact that they knew they couldn't out-spur the wonderful and brave Linda, they instead turned their attention to the kid that cried.  At that exact moment I thought I had been saved from their anger by the ringing of the bell. Linda must have thought so too, because she dashed off into the building. The boys did as well, but not before they grabbed the tether ball rope and tied me to the pole. One of them looked over his shoulder and yelled. "What are you gonna do now?"

Within a two minute span of time I had gone from a giggle to being abandoned, tied to a cold pole while everyone else ran inside. I think they missed seeing me because I was so skinny the pole hid me from view. And so I did what I did best....I cried.  I recall being scared that no one would know I was missing until I was a frozen, blonde lump on the pole.

But HE knew...THEY knew.  God and....my teacher, Mr. Setter. He was my hero. Not just that day, but everyday. He seemed to know I was tender-hearted (as my Dad called it) and he went out of his way to be extra nice. Sometimes girls like me can be invisible to teachers, but he knew I had not come in from recess and he went looking for me. So not only did he untie the ropes that held me to an immovable object, but he held my hand, wiped my tears and majorly kicked some fifth grade butt. Definitely my hero.

I thought about that story today as I looked back over a pretty tough year. And it occurred to me that Mr. Setter (Mr. Go Get Her) and that whole incident was not unlike what happened to me AGAIN these past few months.  The Great Distractor tied me up and turned me every which way but loose. He grabbed a rope that said Health and one that said Prosperity and entangled them with a hundred knots...leaving me to struggle in vain against them. One minute the pole was ice cold and my tongue stuck to it when I complained and the next it was red hot and miserable. And in my ear every morning he would whisper over and over..."What are you gonna do now?"

And I did what I do best....I cried. I cried in my coffee, I cried in my bedroom....but most importantly I cried while giving Him praise.

And HE heard me...the God of my childhood, the Rescuer of my Right Now. He knew I hadn't come home. He knew that I was missing. He knew exactly where I was.  And He arrived with a big fat knife with the word Redemption written on it and he cut those ropes into little bitty pieces and kicked some Great Deceiver butt. I'm not out of the woods, but He is holding my hand and He knows where He is leading me.  And when I think of what He has planned for me in this new year, in this new life....I can't help but giggle.

Walking Pine Ridge with Joe Pulliam

Watercolor Workshops and Historical/Cultural tours with Lakota Artist Joe Pulliam on the Pine Ridge Reservation.


Here's your chance to spend 3 days with the award winning Pine Ridge Artist collected around the world. This amazing class will be a combination of art and history as you walk through Joe's signature techniques and the history and love he has for his People. Create a piece of art under the direction of this gifted watercolor artist and hear the stories of his ancestors and how they inspire his work even today. With relatives that include the great Holy Man, Black Elk and the legendary Crazy Horse, you are sure to leave different from when you came. (A 2-day version without the day of art is also available below.)


We will have a day and a half in the studio with Joe and a day and a half out on the Rez with him, as well as a visit to the famous Fort Robinson about an hour from Pine Ridge. The first day of the workshop will be walking with Joe and your camera on the lands where his ancestors have lived and died. You will visit Wounded Knee, as well as less-traveled spots on the reservation with Joe's commentary and perspective helping you to see through the eyes and the hearts of the Lakota people.

Basic watercolor knowledge preferred. Class limited to 4.

September 23-25, 2013 is the next scheduled workshop...but you and a friend or two can also work with us on choosing dates that work specifically for you.







Pay for your space in full and receive a signed Pulliam print!
$575

What Folks are Saying.....

"Our workshop with Joe was simply incredible. This experience surpassed our expectations a hundred times over. Joe’s warmth and kindness made us feel comfortable from the moment we met him and it just got better throughout the week. His willingness to share Lakota history and current tribal challenges was incredibly enlightening. We were full of questions, and Joe’s sincerity, quick wit and wonderful sense of humor allowed us to talk about anything and everything in an open, heartfelt and illuminating manner. Once we were in the studio and began creating our own works of art, Joe’s immeasurable patience and support as an experienced art teacher made each of us feel as though we could create a masterpiece!

Don’t let this opportunity pass you by. You will never forget this experience. Bring a friend … I brought two and we shared a cross-cultural, creative experience that none of us will ever forget."

Accommodations on and off the Rez are affordable. Suggestions will be offered at registration. There are two nice motels on Lakota lands and others within a short drive "off-Rez". Rooms or meals are not included in the price.

Transportation to the Pine Ridge Reservation is up to you. Closest major airport is in Rapid City about 90 minutes away. I always drive to the Rez...but then I dig road trips. Deposit/payment of $390 button is below, but if you pay in full (above) you receive a limited edition, signed Joe Pulliam print. You may use a credit card directly (MC, Visa, AMX and Discover) if Paypal is not your choice. E-me at lightshinelakota@yahoo.com and we can connect.


$390 deposit for watercolor class or $390 to pay in full for 2 day historical and cultural tour with Joe. Make note of your preference.

____________________________________________________

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.

Lifting The Light

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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 lightshinelakota@yahoo.com. 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