We broke frybread and Shasta together—my first communion since moving to the rez. Before we ate and drank, we thanked God in our own languages.
Frybread and grape Shasta soda—my first communion since moving to the rez. It had been a while. I shared this meal with a group of new friends—Native American Christians from Alaska, Florida, Hawai’i, Minnesota, South Dakota, Montana, and here in the Navajo nation, to name a few places. And there were a few bilagáanas, and those like me who are neither. We broke frybread together, youth and elders, each handing the elements to our neighbors. Our solemnity was punctuated only by the irreverence of pop tabs. Before we ate and drank, we thanked God in our own languages.
I knew that I would learn...
