she's gone off the reservation...who knows what will happen now!

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When I started this religious journey, I wanted to connect with God. I thought my idea of God was all wrong, and I was right. In typical Joni fashion, I drew a clear roadmap with destinations and directions. In typical Joni fashion, I followed that map to the T, stopping at all my pre-determined points… until I ran out of gas/saw something shiney. The truth is, I love this project. I love religion! (gasp!!) And I love God. But what I really, truly love is hearing the stories. The stories are what ignite my passion, the stories are what move me to tears, the stories are what distracted me from my plans. I struggled for a time with the fact that the stories weren't fitting in categories, they weren’t matching my master plan, they were off the beaten path.


A bigger struggle was the fact that as I heard more stories, I saw more lives, connected to each other, part of something bigger – I saw tribes emerging from my stories and something within me longed for a tribe of my own.

About a year ago, I felt a deep need to reconnect with my ancestral people. I have a small portion of Native American blood running through my veins and I wanted to connect with my people in some way. I determined to seek them out and meet them, to see if maybe there was a connection between us. I dragged my sweetheart out of the house one Saturday morning, declaring that we were going to Oklahoma to “Find my people.” An ill-planned scheme, as when we arrived, I determined that my people did not have a reservation (clearly, this was available information on the internet, I just chose not to look for it)! The Choctaw people are scattered, a nation without borders, a nation without a reservation, scattered all over the United States. I was disappointed, but my disappointment ebbed as I stepped barefoot into the Red River on my way home, feeling the icy water rush over my feet, the current connecting me to Earth, to other bodies of water, to something bigger than me, bigger than all of us. Since that time, my spirit has been in unrest. I want so much a place where I belong, a people to call my own, but I have not yet found that spiritual place, and I wonder if my tribe is scattered. 

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Beginning now, I am turning a new leaf over in my religious study. I am returning to my passion – hearing and recording the stories of the people I meet. But there are more and more people who are finding God in unlikely places – outside of places of worship, in nature, in love, in relationship and in community. I want to talk to them. My nomadic heart is wandering back out onto the road, but this time I have no map… it will be an adventure.


To share your story with me, please email me! jonikmartin1@gmail.com