When I was about 10, I too was sent away to school in Kenora, Ont., where I attended the Celia Jeffrey Residential School. I remember vividly looking back toward home mile after mile, not knowing where I was going.

Of my time at Celia Jeffrey School I clearly remember many nights I went to bed crying - lonely, afraid, and feeling no sense of security anymore because my parents, my friends were not there.

I also remember one day turning the water tap on and as it was running I poked my finger up into the faucet and wondered where all the water comes from. I was called into the office and told that I was not to do that. When I was caught speaking my language I was again called into the office and taught that my language was forbidden there. In my young mind I could not comprehend the rationale behind this. Why could I not be me, the person my parents had taught me to be? Why was being an Indian not important?

I remember a lot of shameful things that happened there to my friends. I became angry and my resentment built up to a point where I vowed that every white person would pay for this.

My self-esteem (spirit) became weak to a point of brokenness and I had to get away. I rebelled and ran away from that school with three other friends. We walked for two nights to Redditt without food. I remember walking by night and hiding by day, being very hungry and the lack of sleep overcame me. I remember falling down asleep and losing my friends.

When I awoke I felt I had no other alternative and went to the train station and hid in the dark. I sat there waiting, not caring where I would go or if I would die. This was the lowest point in my life. Imagine a boy of 11 wanting to die.

As I sat at the station in the dark a little dog came barking up to me and a white lady came upon me and said, "Can I help you?" I gave her a look that said, "Leave me alone." She pointed out to me where she lived and said I was welcome to come to her house. Later, my hunger got the best of me and I knocked on her door. She invited me in.

I entered her home reluctantly, ate a sandwich and went to bed. For two days I stayed with her, watching her knit and waiting for her son to come home from school to play. I couldn't figure out why she hadn't called the cops to take me back to the school. Finally, I asked her if she knew that I had run away from the Celia Jeffrey School. She said she knew that, but wanted to know why I had run away from the school.

Her "why" was the key word that has stayed with me to this day. It meant that another person (a white person) cared enough about me to ask. I said, "Your people are all mean" and she said, "No, not all of them." She said she would accompany me back to the school. And she did, she intervened for me and she spoke with the principal. I wasn't punished for running away.

She had instilled in me some sense of trust. From that day I tried to please within the system and hung in there to the end of the school year.

I returned home that summer and I asked: "Please Dad, don't send me back." My older brother, who had been to residential school, knew why I didn't want to go back and he spoke up for me and I was able to stay home and not return.

To this day I have not returned to school. I have always felt a lack of trust in these institutions. That year I returned to the land with my dad and lived my traditional way of life. I didn't speak English again until I was 25 years old. I became a leader in the community as a Councillor and as Chief. I have always strived to help young people, and to instill good values for a better life.

My calling to enter into the ministry came when I was 38 years old and it was at mother's urging, because of her dream. I studied and was ordained three years later, believing in my heart that I would be serving my native people.

My bishop came one day and asked me to speak in the churches in the southern part of the diocese. It was then that I discovered that I still carried resentment in my heart toward white people. I then had a dream and I heard, "God loves your people and he loves the others just as much."

I realized that I needed to deal with my anger and my resentment. I had to purge the seeds of anger that were planted in me at the residential school. I remember grieving, asking God to set aside my thoughts of revenge, to lead me, to guide me, to be the Lord of my life.

Two things that came to mind:

First, the woman in Redditt who cared for me and who had planted a good seed in my life, who showed me there is hope despite abuses and that we can respond to victims of residential schools with a compassionate and kind heart:

And secondly, the understanding that God loves each of us and that he wants us to come together to address past mistakes, right the wrongs. We cannot repeat these attitudes, and that it is a lesson to guide us to a brighter future.

I have had very mixed emotions coming here. One side of me was telling me to run. This is the first time I have met the people who ran the residential school of Celia Jeffrey School.

The other side of me said, it is time to come to meet you, to speak about hope, walking together, grieving and healing together, and journeying together toward wholeness.

I have come to say yes ... forgiveness leads us to peace within ourselves.

Forgiveness also teaches us to become peaceful. Forgiveness instills in us new hope a new sense of direction, a new sense of journeying together.

I have come, though it is hard, and often difficult. I want to forgive and continue to work with you in ways that will bring healing for both our nations.

I extend my hand to those who meant well and grieve today. Both of our people need healing. I extend my hand to you who are here so that we might journey together.

My hope is that we will journey together. Sometimes we struggle. By the grace of God and his son, we will overcome.

Adapted from an address by Bishop Gordon Beardy of Keewatin to the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church.