Across the great divide of time we stand together and gaze upon our history. The trail of tears ~ what a story. I knew about the greed and gold and I knew that there was injustice, but it was never personal. I didn't associate it with living, breathing people ~ until now. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. My son told me it can't be because we haven't hunted for a turkey. I asked if he'd eat a turkey that I bought from Kroger. He said "No! It would be nasty!" Geoffrey's not a meat eater anyway. He's now been exposed to the traditional American Thanksgiving Story at school. I have been searching for the real story ~ online, since I don't know anyone who knows the original tale. It seems that there may have been a meal after a treaty signing (which was never honored). It is also linked to a massacre. I had no idea there were so many versions. I'm thankful for so much in my life and it's tempting to go with the flow. But how can I? My beliefs where God is concerned are very divided. I can see where at odd times things have happened when I definitely received protection. The Christian belief is that if I pray and do my best to keep his laws, and accept his son as my savior and place my trust in his word, he will guide my life. The pretty poem called "Footprints" can bring us to tears with it's sentiment. But I am angry at this God. Where was he when I needed him? What could have been right about me leaving my children with their abusive father? Where were my choices? Where was my protection? Where was the promised guidance? Holidays are very hard for me. I spend them without my kids. What do I teach my son when I am angry at a God who made me stand alone? I do not believe in heaven or hell. What I believe in is good and evil. I believe life is what happens to all of us. I'm not willing to say there is no God, as I do believe in a Creator. But I am not Christian. I tried to be, once. I think we should take examples from other people's experiences and use them to learn from. I think this is the Indian way ~ but even here, stories are passed down from grandparents to parents to children; but my mother doesn't know any stories, and my grandmother died, and my father lied and left. So I've searched for my grandma's family ~ but I can't find them. And I hear that my heart may not be enough to prove who I am. What is this about? I am now as I have always been . . . a lady who stands on her own ~ strong, resourceful, afraid of being alone, trying to be a good parent the second time around ~ sorting and searching for a grounded way of looking at things. In my heart I am a mother. My soul says I must keep moving. I am a fountain of emotions. I do know without a shadow of a doubt that failure only happens if it is chosen. I choose to breathe and keep on trying. Isn't that what our ancestors did? History calls one journey A Trail of Tears. I say to you that the experience isn't over. Our life continues on the same path. Across the great divide of time . . . We stand together and gaze upon our history. So many died on their trail. We all cry, and we all die trying. Today, we will watch the sun rise, and begin again. I was gifted a NAME!