I Can't Believe It's Been 40 Years!

I was asked recently why I seldom write any of my own stories so I decided to share one. This week's blog post marks a milestone in my blogging since this blog post will complete one full year of Faith, Family, and Farm. I appreciate the kind remarks many of you have made about the "stories." It is my goal that all of our lives will be enriched by them.

The Most Important Thing I Learned at Oklahoma State University

                Four decades, forty years – That is the number of years since I began transitioning to college life. The year was 1974. In August of that year, I moved into a dorm room in West Bennett Resident Hall and launched into my coursework at Oklahoma State University.
                In truth, I had one reason for attending the university. I really wanted a college degree. My grandfather, Calvin Callcayah Smith, who had to quit school at fourth grade to help with family work, consistently encouraged me to “attend a teacher’s college and become a teacher.”
                Initially, I despised what I called “orderly planted trees” and “too many sidewalks” in a poem I wrote early in my first year. There were people everywhere and not many places to escape from them except for a few nooks in the library. I had only lived in the wide-open spaces of the Big Bend community until I began college. It was quite a change!
                Those four years at OSU did afford glorious cultural opportunities to attend symphony performances, operas, concerts, and classical plays to enumerate just a few events. Other memorable opportunities to make music with creative, talented people honed my own playing and singing. Friends made during that time in my life remain dear to me.
                Hillcrest Baptist Church played an important role in those years, especially each Wednesday evening. I attended a Bible study made up of a mixed age group with only a handful of university students. Interaction with older people gave a different perspective than the 18 to 22-year-old friends I encountered daily. It seemed like a quiet, momentary respite from the hectic, demanding college life.
                I did earn the degree, but one of the most important changes in my life during that tenure at Oklahoma State University involved my own personal quiet time. All my growing up years, my family read the Bible and prayed together each evening. Anyone who knows my family knows that my parents always observed the Lord’s Day by faithfully serving in our church. However, doubts concerning my salvation consumed me frequently, even though I could clearly recall the July day in 1964, when I had knelt with my grandmother and mother at our couch, prayed for Jesus to forgive my sins, and committed my life to Him. Repeatedly, Mother counseled me to read the book of I John on my own. Over and over again, I started but never finished the small book of five chapters. I was reading classical books with hundreds of pages voraciously but for some unknown reason could not even read once through the tiny book of First John. Once I arrived at OSU, I had to develop a time to read my Bible daily because I knew that was the only way I could successfully navigate the collegiate lifestyle. My family wasn’t there to bolster me up.   
                Some ask why I was so slow to develop my daily personal walk with the Lord. A myriad of reasons led to it. I was immature because I was relying on the faith and spiritual discipline of my parents and grandparents. My failure to realize that God desired a personal time with me to teach me, communicate His will, and relate to me caused me to make this a low priority. I rationalized that I was daily reading the Bible. Wasn’t reading with my family better than nothing? After all, I never rebelled at our family reading and prayer.  I had been content in an attitude of spiritual laziness to continue in the rut of dependency on my family’s commitment to God’s Word instead of forging daily a path to the Lord myself. The stress, the demands, the temptations, and the need for guidance forced me to open the copy of the Living Bible that I had been given and begin reading through the Bible for the first time.
                 Therefore, in this forty-year retrospective, the cultivation of the daily habit of getting into God’s Word was one of the most important accomplishments from my time as an on-campus OSU Cowpoke. The spiritual habit of daily Bible reading continues to sustain me through the stresses and problems. It gives me direction and encourages me to seek God’s strength for the day and walk in it.
              Of course, I am thankful to have earned the degree. Grandpa was quite proud of my accomplishment, and I still love to sport the Brightest Orange. Go Cowboys!

Photo of  me from college days

Interesting Facts from My College Days
$14/credit hour
$0.51 for burger and small drink at Hardee’s – I had a 20-meal plan so only had to provide my Sunday night meal outside of the dorm cafeteria
Borrowed $4,000  - Glenn Hadlock authorized yearly a loan for $1,000 for me.– I budgeted carefully. Recently, Glenn said he knew I needed more. Each year he would ask me if that was enough. I had a grant to pay for my tuition as long as I keep a fairly high GPA.
Had no car - Earned my degree without a car; Thanks to people like Gene Barrett, Price Brown, Mike Hightower, Debbie Hightower Ballinger, Robin Myers, and Banetha Buchanan who all provided a ride home from Stillwater for me.

The Three Ellas

I originally wrote this Gates family story in 2009. I choose to post this reflection in honor of Great-Aunt Ella Passingfair Gates Carter Meyer, one of my grandfather's sisters, whose 130th birthday will be on August 30,

The Influence of a Family

                One Sunday in our small rural church I was impacted by the continuous influence of family and its impact on each individual family member. Our tiny church observed an old tradition of weekly birthday recognitions and in turn, the birthday honorees contributed to the Baptist Children's Homes. Children were especially excited to approach the miniature birthday house and deposit their birthday offerings in the slot at its back. Then the entire congregation sang a birthday blessing to the one celebrating the birthday.
                My eighty-nine-year-old father directed the congregational singing during worship services and also led the birthday recognition blessing song. One Sunday an ecstatic little three-year-old bounced up to the front making a beeline for the birthday offering bank. Little Ella, a bright, observant child, knew exactly where to put her paper money. She encountered a bit of difficulty when she realized she had the bill folded too many times, and it was too thick to fit into the slot. She quickly unfolded it and slipped it into the “birthday house.” Ella Kay then eagerly stepped onto the stage beside Dad. Frequently he had to persuade younger children to come onto the stage to make them more visible to the congregation. Even at the age of three, little Ella already had confidence in and a trusting relationship with her great-great uncle who also just happened to be a leader in her church. She also had attended church so much that she was very comfortable and at home in that setting.

Ella Kay Murphy with her mother, Joni
Jean Gates Murphy taken in 2008.

                As I sat at the piano playing the accompaniment to the birthday blessing song, observing my father at age 89 standing by Ella Kay who had just turned three, I was struck by the power of the moment and how far back it stretched into time long past. My father’s oldest sister was also named Ella.  I could not help thinking of how many times they had stood side-by-side working, walking to school, or playing. More importantly in a figurative way, at times of family tragedy, and times of joy, the family stood arm in arm  supporting each other. Even though my aunt is deceased, her vim and vigor, her extravert tendencies, and her willingness to serve were being perpetuated in the life of Ella Kay. Floating back into my memory from the dark recesses of my mind was the remembrance of Aunt Ella telling my mother how impressed she was with the Oklahoma City Baptist Children's Home, and to think, thirty years later little Ella Kay was contributing to the very same worthwhile cause.

Ella Edith Gates Bledsoe, my father's
oldest sister.

Ella Passingfair Gates Carter Meyer born
on August 30, 1884.

                 In a reflective afterthought, I recalled a third Ella, my Great-aunt Ella for whom my aunt was named. How overwhelming to realize she preceded little Ella Kay by four generations! She was an accomplished woman with a career outside the home far before it was acceptable for women to occupy that role. Yet her intelligence, logical thinking, and willingness to study made her an excellent student of God’s Word, His ways, and of life in general. 
                May we as families pass on to the younger members the character of our ancestors, their passions and their deeply internalized beliefs. These principles guided and steered the family unit through rough times. These time-honored truths buoyed them to rise above the storms in life that attempted to capsize and sink the influence and good name established by the previous generations.  May we seek to train tiny ones like Ella Kay to guard, protect, and emulate the role models of those who have gone before us.  I will treasure the moment when the youngest member of our family in our church stood stalwartly next to the oldest member of that same family united in purpose, heart, and love.

Aunt Daisy's Philosophy

So many times when Aunt Daisy would be visiting with us,  I would hear her say something like this, "Do a good turn when you can because you never know when you will need someone to do a good turn for you." This principle related to everyone--it didn't matter who they were, what station of life they came from--everyone had value and by mere existence had earned the right to be the recipient of kindness.  In our world today, people especially the most vulnerable such as children and the elderly, as well as animals, and possessions are easily discarded as useless, worthless, and of no value.  I am trying to learn to look closer at people and things to see beyond what is "surface" and live by Aunt Daisy's adage--not knowing when a person or thing that I might have been tempted to dismiss or discard would be exactly who or what I would need in the future.  Aunt Daisy lived by this principle, and many of us reaped the benefits of her generous, loving lifestyle. I thought of her as I reread this devotional that I wrote several months ago.

Daisy Dean Rainey Rice, mother of  Orlean, Hazel,  Elmer, Ethel, Virgil, and Dean. She was the sister of my grandmother, Gladys Rainey Smith.

The Useless Tire and Stacks of Newspapers

Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. Philemon 1:11 (NRSV)  - Written to Philemon concerning a formerly rebellious servant who Paul had met and led to faith in Christ.

            How many times had I ranted to Dad about the slow-leak tire? More than a dozen times I had exclaimed, “Dad, you shouldn’t have to air this tire up every few days. You need to just replace it.”

            After his stroke when I began taking care of the cattle, Mother bought a new tire, and we sidelined the slow-leak tire. But wouldn’t you know, even as I write this, the slow-leak tire is on the pickup. This isn’t the first time I have had to use it. The tire that I thought was worthless has become profitable to me as a much-needed spare tire.

           A second rant of mine involved the daily newspaper that Dad likes. I complained about how the old newspapers stack up. We had four or more paper sacks full of them. Mother heard me say more than once in a quite annoyed voice, “No wonder people subscribe to digital newspapers. They don’t have to deal with discarding the already read ones.” My brother-in-law describes me as a “tree-hugger.” In all fairness, I just like to recycle, but recycling centers are rare in the Bend.

          Who would have ever believed I would be heard saying to Mother, “Store those newspapers so I can use them with the kittens.” So many kitten care activities clean up much easier if a newspaper is beneath items such as food and water bowls and litter boxes. Boy, have I had to eat my words since we began caring for the orphan kittens!

         In life, frequently the things that annoy us most turn out to be most “useful” to us. Even the Apostle Paul who penned the scripture above experienced that as well. In his first missionary journey, John Mark, as a young man, was on the mission team. For some reason, half way through the mission trip, he bailed out on Paul and Barnabas, headed back home, and left a greater load for the rest of the team. Paul wouldn’t hear of him being considered for a second trip. Yet in Paul’s final letter before he was martyred, he specifically requested Mark (same guy, just older) be sent to him.

        After having to eat my words far more than just the two incidents mentioned, I am learning to not discount people or resources, even if it’s a slow-leak tire and old newspapers.

         Lord, make me aware of the blessings of people and tangible assets – no matter how seemingly insignificant – that You have brought into my life. Help me to see the value of individuals and never look at any person as “expendable" but treasure that person as You intended me to do.

The Bittersweet Shared Birthday

The Connection Between an Aunt and a Niece

                On August 11, 1900, my grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey, was born in Shawnee in Oklahoma Territory. At that time, Shawnee was only a fledgling city. Grandma was born in a tent. Her father was helping build the railroad in what is now Pottawatomie County in Oklahoma.
               Grandma was a spunky, dare devil with hazel eyes and auburn hair. So many of the stories I have heard about her involve action and adventure. (See the blog post of June 8, entitled The Staycation That Went Horribly Wrong.)
               My grandmother moved to the Big Bend community in her preteen years away from civilization and the possibility of any cultural opportunities including piano lessons. She had such musical talent and drive to learn to play. After working all day in the hot field, a tired, but determined girl would come into the house, and somehow she figured out the musical staff and the names of the lines and spaces. She taught herself to read music without one lesson and could play the family’s pump organ!
               Yet on Grandma’s 31^st birthday, she experienced her first devastating good-bye. Her beloved father, William Marion Rainey had died only the day before on August 10, of Bright’s disease, the term used in the early 20^th century for many kidney ailments. He was just 63 years old. Grandma had been married eight years and was the mother to a six-year-old, my mother. She was in the prime of her life. Yet she found herself on her birthday standing at an open grave in Pixley Cemetery on a hill overlooking the Arkansas River in the Big Bend community. Her life suddenly became so serious and somber. In the midst of her sorrow, within a month of her father's death, in September of that same year, she decided to change the direction of her life and become a follower of Jesus Christ. Her parents had made the decision to follow Jesus in July of 1896, when they lived in Terral, Indian Territory. Terral is located one mile north of the Red River.
              On the very day of the funeral service, her younger brother Eugene Robert and wife Raucie had their first baby, Billie Jean Rainey. My mother was so enamored with this new, little cousin. My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, recalls positioning herself in a rocking chair and having an adult carefully place little Billie Jean in her lap. Mother, even though she was only six years old, never tired of holding and rocking her and only relinquished the baby when an adult came and retrieved Baby Billie Jean. This pretty, new baby helped a little girl deal with the sorrow that surrounded her following her grandpa’s death.

Marilyn and Billie Jean Rainey with their
rabbit and kitten. Marilyn is Billie Jean's
younger sister.

           Billie Jean remained in the Bend following her mother’s death in 1943, until her teen years when she moved to Washington, D.C. to live with her aunt, Emma Rainey Buckley. Emma was the youngest sister of her father and my grandmother. Billie graduated from high school in Washington, D. C. She earned a degree in architecture and worked as an architect for the City of Anchorage, Alaska, until her retirement.

Billie Jean Rainey and Emma
Rainey Buckley in Washington, D.C.
Aunt Emma provided a plethora of cultural
opportunities for Billie Jean while she
lived in the nation's capital.

Portrait of Billie Jean Rainey
Morton made during her days in
Washington, D.C.

           Billie Jean was a kind, gentle soul with a generous and grateful heart. I can recall many times when Aunt Emma called excited about a huge box she had received from Billie Jean. Each weekend until Aunt Emma’s death, Billie Jean placed a lengthy call to Aunt Emma, much to Aunt Emma’s delight.

            Grandmother and Billie Jean always retained a closeness. In fact, I heard Billie Jean say her husband dreaded for her to come back to Oklahoma because she became engulfed in sadness when she had to fly back home to Anchorage.  

This photograph of my grandparents and Billie Jean
 and her husband, Jim was taken the last time she
visited my grandparents in the Big Bend.

            After Grandmother’s death in 1983, each August I selected carefully a special birthday card for Billie Jean. Even though the first part of August was always such a busy time for me as a teacher, I would carve out an evening to leisurely write a newsy letter to enclose in her birthday card. It was a relaxing time I looked forward to each August.

            Both Grandma and Billie Jean were wickedly smart and excellent writers. Grandma was feisty and Billie Jean reserved. Grandma had eyes that twinkled with mischief. Billie’s eyes were large pools of placidity. Yet their special birthday bond held them close to each other, and those of us who knew them, loved them dearly and miss them greatly.

Remembering Steven Glenn Gates

Today, August 3, is Steve's birthday. Steve was larger than life in his living and his love for his family. That twinkle in his eye as well as his million-dollar grin, and booming voice were classic Steve Gates qualities. Anyone who knew him very well was quite aware that the first time he met Barbara Jean Clark she had his heart lock, stock, and barrel. Prior to Steve's death, Barbara and I collaborated on the article below. It was originally published in Mature Living in March of 2010.

Steve's 1st Grade Photo from
1957-1958 when he attended
 Liberty Elementary in Ponca City.

The Hearing Aid with a Tooth Mark

by Barbara Clark Gates as told to Bernadean Gates

 We had endured some trying years. My husband, Steve, was diagnosed with a brain tumor in the fall of 2003. He had recuperated rapidly and responded to the therapy, for which we gave God the glory.

Then, in February 2004, our oldest son was killed in a car wreck. God sustained us during that crushing time through the prayers of our church family and friends. Steve and I were especially strengthened by people who had also experienced the death of a child. These parents empathized with our grief-stricken state and understood the dark path we were suddenly treading.

Steve and Clark Gates  - taken when
the family lived in Missouri.

In 2007, during a routine check-up, we learned that Steve's tumor was aggressively growing, and surgery was strongly recommended, exactly the same medical progression we faced just a few years earlier. This time the surgery was followed by six weeks of radiation and chemotherapy treatments. Every day after work, we made the 90-minute drive into Tulsa, Oklahoma, for Steve's treatments.

One of the most annoying side effects was the deterioration in Steve's hearing. Steve had worn a hearing aid for many years, but now, even with his device, he could not hear his grandchildren or engage in meaningful conversation. How stifling this was for my gregarious husband who loved nothing better than entering into a lively conversation!

I arranged for Steve to be evaluated in an effort to find some type of hearing aid to assist his debilitated hearing. I was elated to discover the clinic had a loaner Steve could try before we spent nearly $3, 000 for the new aid.

One day I arrived home from work to learn Steve had lost the loaner hearing aid while working in the pasture. Isn't this the proverbial needle in a haystack? I mused to myself. Inwardly, I bemoaned the cost of replacing the lost loaner as well as paying for the new one we had ordered. I went to God in prayer, seeking His miraculous intervention in a seemingly, hopeless situation.

The following Sunday, our daughter, Joni, and her two daughters pulled into the driveway after attending church. As she approached our rural home, she heard an unusual sound. She questioned me about the source of that strange noise, saying optimistically, "It could be Dad's hearing aid."

I replied that it was probably a locust. I was unwilling to allow any hope of locating the hearing aid to be raised, only to be dashed by the stark reality of the unlikelihood of finding something so small in our spacious yard. After all, why would it be out on the lawn when Steve had lost it in the pasture? I thought. Haven't we diligently combed over the property already?

Nevertheless, I stopped to listen and immediately recognized the unmistakable sound I had heard so often- the squeal of a hearing aid turned to a high volume.

Joni and I began a humorous version of "Marco Polo" in a collaborative effort to locate what we could only dare to hope was the lost hearing aid. To our astonishment, there in the front yard, almost in one of my flower beds, was the loaner hearing aid with very little damage other than a dog's tooth mark. What were the chances that our black Labrador retriever would turn on the hearing aid and carry it from the pasture to our front yard so it could be easily heard and found?

Joni turned to my 3-year-old granddaughter and said, "Tell Nana about your lesson in children's church."

Pretty, little Mattie glibly piped up, gazing into my eyes, "Nana, pray, pray, pray!"

I gave God all the glory for miraculously using our gentle family dog to solve a demoralizing problem in our already stressed lives.

God challenges His people in Philippians 4:6-8 "Don't worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made know to God."

Often if families are attentive and open, God instructs several generations in His ways just as He did that Sunday for Joni, Mattie, and me. Those God-engineered experiences provide faith-building moments that endure throughout family members' lives, reaping eternal rewards.

Steve as a toddler at the water pump
used by Edmund, Sr. and Mamie Gates
 on their farm until the 1960s.