The medicine woman for the tribe was once a crazy Indian.
It wasn't fair, so the story played out again and again.
Husband never paid for anything, never helped, fathered five kids and then walked out.
No money but still Crazy Indian revered the Great Spirit; put the kids in religious schools, and the father takes them out; sticks them into secular schools.
So definitely Great Spirit is on Crazy Indian's side.
But she didn't win. Even the lawyer says she's right but you're wrong says the judge and the lawyer sends a bill for 20 thousand shekels.
Crazy Indian needs a car for shopping, for court, to deliver the children to see their father, and then the car breaks down. Twenty minutes late, but it's not her fault! The deadbeat father calls the police on her. Crazy Indian waits for a favor someone promised because she can't pay repairs, and she's still waiting.
Somebody finds a cheap rental apartment, so nice of them, so hard on the friends who put them up. Indians are noisy and messy; kids break things and dirty the walls and the carpets. They move into the apartment and set up, and soon the owner decides to raise the rent and get nicer tenants.
Suddenly the friend says she has to hang up. Her husband walked in!
Yeah, good for you. Here nobody walks in.
Then this lady whose name she can't remember poured red hot coals on Crazy Indian's head.
Don't call me, says the lady. Call the Great Spirit. He's not busy.
The thing was, never did these details get explained to The Great Spirit. The lady could have helped if she knew the ins and outs, yes. But she can never know and so can never help. Who can understand something so crazy?
The Indian just screamed at everyone in hearing range to inform of the details. Every time, nothing happened, just crazy from pain and disgrace. But that was bitter medicine, expensive and good. No car? No Torah school even? Just bow your head and say thank you. Great Spirit knows the details; don't talk so much. I mean that, because it's all good and true.