The Cherokee: A Chosen People!

ERIC MOORESATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2016

Sit with me, said the man with silver and black flowing hair as he
switched his walking stick from one side to another. Here on the bench and tell
me a story. I was so uncomfortable. Walking past the elderly Indian seemed
rude. He was seated on a grey concrete bench outside the Cherokee museum. To
my natural mind this seemed like a risky thing to do. This mans face was badly
cut without being properly bandaged. The dried blood looked fresh, and he had a
bit of an outdoor smell to him. It looked as if that vinegary odor stemmed from
his sleeping arrangements. But in my heart I knew this moment in time would
always come: meeting the Cherokee. I was alone as I sat beside him. Alone also in
that he was full blooded and although obviously struggling, he still culturally commands the respect of an elder. I, on the
other hand, am not full blooded, younger, not from the reservation and alarmed at his presence. I dont totally know how
much Cherokee blood is in me yet. Im guessing a fourth.
Im still waiting on the Baker and Dawes rolls to tell me. In the mean time I want to hug him because his obvious
predicament is one Ive seen before: alcoholism. Some Cherokee drink to0 much, pass out on the road, and accidently get
run over at night. I find out later thats exactly what happened to George. We speak directly with the eyes. Our hearts are
talking as we continue holding hands after our initial handshake. Ive seen this same gesture in Africa. It seemed natural. I
learn of his valiant war stories from Vietnam and the horrors he saw. The children... he kept saying repeatedly as a tear
slowly rolled down his face. I also learned of the car that backed over his legs the night before when, as he put it, he was
where he should not have been. I told him of the great Holy Spirit and of Jesus love for him and all natives. Other
Cherokee consider Jesus a myth. Again feelings of being an outsider swirled within me. Maybe, I thought, he wont receive
me because Im not totally Cherokee, mostly white
Maybe he thinks Im brainwashed because of it...the white mans god and all that. But he listens, nods and smiles.
He appreciates my story as I did his. He is my grandfather. Not by blood but by heart. I see a gentle toughness in his eyes.
A look of affirmation and a striking resemblance to my own fathers face warm me. His leathery, dark face and hands
remind me too of a man I havent seen alive in over a decade. I ask to speak a blessing over him. My intention is praying
for his legs to heal from being run over by the car and his facial laceration. He says yes, and then proceeds to tell me that
the missionary church helps him. He says he believes in Jesus too. I learn he is one of the eldest Cherokee on the
reservation and as such has a job teaching the language to the younger natives. I think of the sweet, stern Cherokee high
school teacher i met on another visit. She wanted to know why I didnt come inside her native language class instead of
just peering in. I felt odd then too fearing unacceptance foolishly.
She obviously felt slighted by my not interrupting her Cherokee language class. There is a larger welcoming by the
Cherokee that I think god is setting me up for, and Ive been too timid about it. They arent questioning my Cherokee
blood. So as I begin to pray for George we dont close our eyes. No one else exists. Staring respectfully, kingly and with
heads held high, our backs are straight as we speak together to the master of life. We are still seated. Our grip is now chest
high with thumbs locked at the top and fingers resting on the back of each others hands, drawn close to the breast. This is
broad daylight and in public. The great Holy Spirit carries our prayer to the father like an eagle soars upward towards

heaven. Smiling, we finish, and as I stand to leave George says to me, I will meet you on the mountaintop, if I dont see you
again. Do you know what I mean by this he asks? Yes, I do. He says my legs feel better. Maybe I can walk my mountains
more now. Yes George your mountains are waiting...
Idling in the car while staring at that sign that read Cherokee childrens home I wondered
if there was any chance I could minister there. Lets pray in the spirit I said to my friend. 1
cor. 14:2 tells us that when we pray in the spirit we speak out mysteries. Well it was
definitely a mystery to me whether a door could open there. Places like that can be
completely closed to the gospel and I knew. After a note of breakthrough in my heart I left
it alone knowing god would make a way somehow. About a month later and back on the
reservation I had a desire to drive through the parking lot at that same childrens home. As
we rounded the hill I could see the childrens faces poking out the glass doors peering into
the car windows. Some older children were outside the facility playing and talking. I said
abruptly park. Got out and approached a woman who seemed to be staff. I asked if anyone
ever got to share with the children. She said not really. Sadly she said my other job just
changed my hours.
I was going to take them myself to a service if they wanted to go but now that cant happen. I told her who I was
and she said why dont you come up this Sunday and do a service here. Gladly I accepted. When I returned that Sunday 7
of 12 youth that were housed there attended my picnic table revival service. I asked them who here as I do wishes he had a
dime for every time somebody wanted to know what nationality or ethnicity they were! You see its not every day you see
Cherokee. So we are thought to be Mexican, Cuban, Puerto Rican, Italian, or middle eastern. When I was younger and
tanned in the summer with a crew cut Ive even been slandered with a racial slur that African Americans endure. We
laughed a bit about common experience and then moved onto the message in Daniel. I pointed out that these 4 youths in
the book of Daniel stayed faithful to the one true god and rose to power while being invaded by a foreign nation. I asked
them can you think of another people who have experienced the same thing.
Referring to Native American people and their chance to flourish with the help of Jesus and the great Holy Spirit
right here and right now! Their eyes lit up when I shared how they could rise up in the midst of people who looked
different and who sometimes did things differently. That they could keep themselves from the kings portion...alcohol,
drugs, sex outside of marriage and violence and do things Gods way and rise ten times higher than others. 4 of the 7
prayed to be born again. The 4 in the book of Daniel are named Daniel, Hannah, Mishael, and Azariah. You may know
them as Beltashazzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego their captive Persian names. I wish I could tell the names of the
4 Cherokee youth who entered into a blood covenant with Jesus. But for safety reasons I cant. If certain relatives knew
they were there they might try to hurt them. But like a soaring eagle rising higher and higher to heaven the great Holy
Spirit carried each one and now angels are dancing in circles to the sound of drums!
As we left Cherokee high school I was so encouraged at getting to meet the principal, some students, the middle
school principal and to tour the new facilities that housed the elementary, middle and high school students. Ive never
anywhere in the world seen a nicer one and the football field rivaled any college turf Ive ever seen. Rounding the corner
heading back into town a young lady was hurriedly scooping up trash that had been strewn over both sides of the road. It
looked as if she was on her way to the dump and a bag or two had fallen out of her SUV and busted on the pavement.
Quickly we pulled over and jumped out to help her hoping no car would run over her or us. As we finished each walked
down to the clean, natural stream that winds the length of the reservation to wash off. Appreciative for the help and a bit

surprised she began a conversation with us. Explaining to her that I was an Evangelist, I asked if she needed prayer. She
began with a question. Why are my kids so bad?
Rather than sugar coat what might be a once in a lifetime conversation I spoke plainly with her. Two spiritual
families exist on the earth. The family of the devil whose father and spiritual head is satan, and the family of god whose
father and spiritual head is Jesus. If your children are not born again then their spiritual father is the devil and they act
like him. In john 10:10 Jesus said the thief comes to steal kill and destroy and I have come that you life and that more
abundantly. Lets pray for their salvation I said as she assured me that Jesus was her Lord. Tears falling we by that creek
have bonded with a family that just needed someone to help them pick up the trash.
Pulling up the hill to visit the family we had helped with the trash was an amazing climb. Chickens on the left were
scratching for worms and bugs. It reminded me how contrasted they are from eagles who soar so high above us
majestically and with laser beam focus zero in on their prey from great distances away. I was hoping to impact this family
to begin to catch flight for Jesus as they walked towards the car. Would you guys have any need for bibles or food i asked?
Bibles the man replied. I would really like a bible. And if you have any for the children that would be great the young lady
said. I could tell they could use food but they answered differently than I had expected. My heart leaped at their hunger. I
know it pleased god as i remembered the verse man shall not live by bread and water alone. When we left that day we had
empowered that young family with enough bibles and food to begin to reach out to their friends. It was a relief to know
that he who had begun a good work was keeping it going!
I travel the Pinellas Bike Trail all the time on a bike. I am flying on my "interstate" from St.Pete to Tarpon Springs,
Florida weekly. I go to Alpahgraphics in Dunedin, my wonderful Christian friends from Gawgia:) and bible study/church
plants in Palm Harbor, Largo, Greenwood, and New Port Ritchey. I'm busy and rarely stop to talk to anyone. However, last
week on my way to Alpahgraphics I saw a Native American on the trail seated by a white guy. You might not have
discerned he was Native like me. You, as many have with me, may have mistaken him to be Arabian, Mexican, Puerto
Rican, Italian, or Spanish. However, I can tell the difference and because they are a top priority in my life-America's first
mission field- a failed effort in my opinion- I stopped. I said politely, "Are you Native American?' He said, "Yes!" I said,
"Me too, Cherokee." He said, "Me too! Where are you from?" I said, "Knoxville, Tn." He said, " I am from Cookeville are
you familiar with it?" I said, "Yes, my high school basketball team used to go to camp there." He said, Oh we are tighter
than I thought!" and gave me a fist bump. I noticed the beer cans behind them under the bench they were sitting on as the
other guy let me know that he and Running Bear-Bear for short were now blood brothers after having cut their hands and
made that pact. He also said, just the other day, Bear was asking where all the Natives were and he told him on the
Reservations!
I could tell from observing them that they appeared to be homeless and as many do were using the trail as a type
of shelter. I asked them if they knew Jesus as Lord and they both said yes that they sometimes attend the Dunedin
Methodist church downtown. I asked them if I could pray for them and they said yes. The Holy Spirit spoke in my heart
"Go lay your hands on your brother!" So as I began to pray for their lives and health the Spirit of God manifested Himself
in our midst and the tears began to stream down upon Will, the white guys face, all the way to the ground beneath his feet.
I thought it was ironic that now, after all this time, 2 Indians were praying on a trail and it's the whites who were now
crying their own "Trail of Tears"! Bear and I, as expected, just soaked in the Lord's presence rather stoically-it seems that
is our nature.

I asked Bear if he thought it was just coincidence that after asking such a question about where were all the
Natives, that all of the sudden the Good Lord would send him one, if only partially so, to minister to him? He said he
thought it was special.
Well, today I took the bus to Alpahgraphics for some printing needs. I walked downtown to the gas station to get a
really good roast beef sandwich which they make for the fishermen in Dunedin as they go out on the ocean nearby. I was
walking a couple of blocks to the library, and the Lord began to deal with me about giving the sandwich away to someone.
A little further on, I got to the Dunedin Library and had just turned the corner by the Jays farm league baseball stadium
which is next door to the library and guess who I saw walking right past me? Bear! He said, Hello brother!" The Natives
don't know Cherokee as well as they used to, but are trying, at least on the reservations, to re-teach it to the next
generation or he and I would have said, "Siyo!" which is" hello" in that language.
I said, "Are you hungry?" and he said, "I'm always hungry!" as he rubbed his belly. So I gave him my sandwich and
drink. And he said, "You have to quit being so nice!" and I said, "I can't!"
"Do you have a bible?" I asked. And he replied, A little pocket one." Guessing it probably only had the New
Testament in it, I reached into my bag, and then gave him a small new bible that Sheila Talley had bought and donated
along with some nice Spanish bibles, a few months back. I told him to read the books of John 1-3 because they tell us of
God's love in real specific ways and that would help to create positive change in his life, and the next time I saw him I
would expect a full report! He smiled and we parted with a fist bump. His sister found him after 25 years and wants him to
move up to North Carolina with her to help her with her husband and his drug addiction. At least it would be a roof over
his head...