Port Angeles, WA
Who Am I?
by Cathy Benzler, Ministry Staff
We are all such wonderfully made
human beings. Our Creator made
each and everyone of us both special 
and unique. Each one of us has a journey to
travel and a story to tell. How we walk through
our journey during our life depends on knowing
who we are and where we come from.
During my young years of ages 3 and 4, I
lived with my maternal Grandparents. I was
very close to my Grandparents because of
this. My Grandmother was French and my
Grandfather was, WHAT? He didn’t want
to talk about it. Being the very inquisitive
child that I was, I knew something was very
different about my Grandpa. He didn’t look
like anyone else in the family. He had a dark
complexion, no hair on his arms and legs, but
the thickest head of hair I had ever seen on a
man. He also had deep blue eyes. As I got a
little older I started to question my roots. My
mother told me I was French. I replied with,“I know Nana is French, but what about Papa
(My Grandfather)?” The reply was always the
same, “I don’t know, he didn’t ever want to
talk about it.” Well, I was sure he’d tell me,
because he told me everything. He’d set me
on his lap and teach me things like, caring for
the land, how the earth works, all about nature
and how to care for it, and to treat your fellow
man with respect and dignity. I didn’t know it
then, but later came to realize he was teaching
me “Indian” ways. Nevertheless, whenever
I asked about his heritage, I always got a long
pause and the same answer, “I’m a Heinz 57.”
I wanted to know what this meant, but as many
times as I asked this question, the answer was
always the same, “I am a lot of different things”
but never would he name them to me even as
I persisted. I always recognized pain in his eyes
when I brought up the subject, so I quit asking.
At family gatherings I would overhear comments
about “the Indian in the closet” and it never
occurred to me at that time who they were
talking about.
In my search for what my genealogy roots
were, I found out I was French, Scottish, Irish
and some German, but no one knew or would
talk about what my Grandpa’s roots were.
When I was 19, my Grandfather passed on and
I was totally devastated. I had lost the most
loving, caring and kind person I had in my life.
I had never felt such pain even though others
that I loved had passed on before this. I really
felt a void in my life after his passing. There
were questions I never got answered from him
and I felt that my Grandpa departed this world
without being able to be the person he was
truly born to be.
Years later I came home and had a surprise
waiting for me in the mail. A packet had
arrived from a relative tracing our family roots.
In this, contained the information I had been
searching for; my Grandfather was Scottish,
Irish and a Cherokee Indian. Native American
blood ran through my veins as much as the
Scottish, French, and Irish did. I was so happy
and felt like a missing piece of my life was
now in place. Then anger set in. I was angry
for being deprived of knowing whom I really
was and not being able to know a culture that
I had a deep love for all my life. I was angry
because my Grandfather felt he had to keep
this a secret and deny who he was as a person.
I also couldn’t understand why the rest of my
family didn’t embrace this welcome news of our
Native roots. I had no idea that now I would
have to defend who I was. The comments
started coming almost immediately. “If I were
you, I wouldn’t tell people you’re a Cherokee,
everyone says they’re a Cherokee.” Well,
didn’t our Creator, God, make all tribes and
nations? That includes the Cherokee Nation!
My ancestors are listed in the Cherokee roll
books. Why was I supposed to be ashamed of
being Cherokee? Then I realized the key word
was “SHAME.” Shame was the generational
curse passed down through my family. That
shame caused my Grandfather to hide who he
was; that shame caused other family members
to not embrace their Native roots, that shame
was to keep me from saying I was Cherokee.
The enemy meant to wipe out the Native
Americans or First Nations People from North
America. Shame was just one of the many
methods he used. By destroying the culture,
languages, songs and dances, one’s identity
would just blend into this huge melting pot we
live in.
Jesus is the healer of all things. He has
healed this broken heart and is restoring what was stolen from me. He helped me overcome
bitterness and anger. Out of the wounds and a
broken spirit I’ve become whole. I’m of the age
considered to be an elder and I’m learning my
language and my songs. I’ve seen healing take
place when I sang Amazing Grace in Cherokee
into the ear of a deaf person, and their hearing was
restored instantly. I never experienced anything so
dramatic when I sang that song in English.
Our life experiences, both the good and
bad, shape the person we become in life. Jesus
helps us to forgive others as well as forgive
ourselves. Christ has left His footprint in all
cultures in order to lead us to Him. Our true
identity lies in Christ. I can now say, I’m proud
of who I am, the whole complete person God
created me to be. Through Him, He’s using
me to reach both native and non-native people
with the Gospel. I’m able to reach people
that others haven’t been able to, because of
how He created me. My journey has made it
possible to help those that have a similar story
as I have, and are able to embrace and step into
their complete identity in Christ, as a person of
mixed blood.