A Cone and a Giggle

My granddaughter loves to sneak up on her “Papa” and pounce on him. She loves surprising me, although I typically see it coming and she knows it. So, why does she do it? She craves the tickling she gets from me after the pounce. She loves to laugh. And I love it too.   

After spending a few days with our kids, it was time for our drive home. That means traveling through Jicarilla country, and it often means stopping in a small village along the way. Why would we regularly stop in an unassuming town in the middle of nowhere? We stop for ice cream, that’s why! What’s better than ice cream to give a tired body the boost it needs for the last stretch of driving.

So, here we were, in line for ice cream with several Jicarilla. In fact, we were the only white-faced folks in search of our favorite flavors. It occurred to me how similar we all were at that moment in time. Each of us similarly craved the cold, creamy, savory tastes on our tongues.

My attention went to a delightful mom tickling her cute, young girl. The girl laughed and laughed. She would ask her mom to stop, yet everyone in that line knew she wanted more. Why not, every giggle session ended in a warm embrace from her mom. I giggled along with them, thinking of how I had tickled my own granddaughter that same morning. We all shared a craving for a cone, yet we also shared the sacred experience of a mom’s love and a young girl’s delight.

And yet, our cultural history and heritage could not be more different. During white man’s conquest of America, the atrocities we caused Native Americans were innumerable. It is estimated that the North American Indian population was anywhere between 5 to 12 million in 1500. By 1900, the population was only 237,000. A part of me wants to somehow make amends for it all. I would not know how to begin.  

One thing I enjoy and appreciate about Jicarilla culture is their appreciation of story. They pass down wisdom to each generation through story. Here is an exampled of one such story. It’s a Jicarilla story of a great flood.

Many years ago, people lived under the ground. There came a time when there was no food, so the people sent a hummingbird up to see what he could find for them to eat. He saw the deep roots of a grapevine, which he followed up to the surface of the earth. The people went up through the hole and began living above ground.

One day a man looked down into the hole made by the vine, through which the people had entered the upper world, and saw that water was rising up through it. The wise ones knew that a great flood was coming and that something had to be done to save humankind.

They cut down a great tree and hollowed it out to make a canoe, placing a young girl in it. The tree-trunk canoe floated high on the waters until nothing, but water could be seen in any direction The wise ones had warned the girl not to leave the vessel until it touched land, even if she heard the waters going down.

Finally, the tree-trunk canoe touched ground. When the girl emerged, all the world had been drowned. She wondered whether she would always be alone. She went up to the mountains to rest. As she lay down, the sun shone on her, and warm water dripped down on her body from the rocks. This magic water impregnated her, and she later gave birth to a daughter who conceived in the same way. All of us are descended from her.

At first glance, you may be struck by the odd nature of the story. We also may be quick to judge the Jicarilla story as surely untrue. But this simply demonstrates what the typical western mind does. We tend to be concerned about details and whether a story is true or not. In contrast, the Jicarilla don’t worry about that—instead they listen for a message and allow the story to touch their hearts. I believe Jesus told His stories hoping we too would be less concerned about details and accuracy, and instead, listen for a truth to live by.

What I personally hear from the Jicarilla flood story is that God always allows for a redemptive “do over.” He is always nudging us to move upward, to rise above the fray of our own unawareness. Underground, buried in our ego, we are blind to the sunshine of His love above.

One of the greatest compliments we can give someone is simply to listen to them. The Jicarilla are taught to listen. Our society today needs racial reconciliation—making amends for past and present injustices. It must start with listening. Listening to the other’s journey without judgement, through ears of love and understanding.

I wish I could somehow make things right for my Jicarilla friends. Individually, I can at the very least, appreciate and listen to their stories. I once ran alongside a jovial Jicarilla man on a trail run which traversed several miles. Mile after mile, I listened to his stories. That was a good day.

And in that line for ice cream with my Jicarilla friends, I knew I had few answers. I only had that beautiful moment of an ice cream cone and a shared giggle. Yet, in that day, for that moment, that felt like enough.

 

“Simply put, there is no room for labeling in love. If we look down on others, we look down on God!”  

—Samuel C Hughes