It's Complicated

 Fred, Ida and many others taught me, loved me and helped me to become Lepled

The Life And Times Of Brian Waddington 

Bringer of the Gentle Wind

Back in the day when all else failed I would drive cab. Such was the case when my first wife and I moved to Prince Rupert B. C. Canada. On a particularly slow day I was listening to the radio when Canada Manpower announced that the Coast Guard was hiring light house keepers. I went and applied. Two weeks later I was the new junior lighthouse keeper on Ivory Island Light Station.

Ivory Island red roof on the right our home

This meant that every six or so weeks the United Church Mission Boat AKA The Crosby would show up and have an hour or so visit with us. Over the next four years I became close to the good ship and crew. Shortly after leaving Ivory for the big city I had a chance to sign on as a deckhand. In round numbers three years later I left the Crosby as the first, last and only Intended Candidate For The Ministry. 

Skipping ahead the United Church created a new program that they hoped would develop indigenous ministry. Strangely enough there was no one more suited to be the guinea pig than yours truly. I was working on a Bachelors degree that could be completed by correspondence. I had a small but good reputation in the coastal villages due to my time on the Crosby. And I had proven myself able to survive and indeed enjoy life on the coast thanks to my years as a light house keeper. Consultations were made. Deals were struck. I was accepted into the village as the provisional United Church Pastor In Training. If either the greater United Church of Canada thought it was a bust or if the Village Church didn't think it was working it was game over.

One Sunday Charles told me to head downstairs after the service for a meeting. No big deal. When I went downstairs there were twelve chairs facing one way and mine facing the other. The meeting went on for an hour or two. By the time it was over I had a seriously long list of what I had been doing wrong and a significantly shorter list of what I had been doing right. 

Say what you want about me but you had best believe that my mother didn't raise a stupid son. That Sunday I started working on the lists. Making the good better and the bad good.

That was all it took. The village knew they owned me. People began to teach me. Teach me in the old pre-contact ways. About the old pre-contact ways. In time my family and I would be adopted into the village. Given names and respect. In return we accepted our responsibilities and roles. I became the Village Lepled. Ida became my village mother. Her husband Fred my village father.

It was a complex time. After five years in the village my wife was in love with another man. My daughter was living with my natural mother. The greater United Church was desperate to remove me. I was reaching deeper and deeper into my Scottish ancestry and becoming both more Indian and incredibly radicalized.

When my marriage totally disintegrated I didn't believe that I could honorably stay in the village. So I returned to Vancouver and went full time into the Ordination program. That however is a story for another time.

Many things have happened since then. The worst in my life may well be that over the years Lepled has become a faint dim memory. 

I'm not sure how to bring that part of me back to life. But if I am to honor the village that adopted me I must find a way.

Brian