North of the Arctic Circle Twenty Years Ago

                In my journal on May 31, 1995, I wrote, “Trivia:  We are closer to the North Pole than Moscow. We are about 750 miles from the North Pole.” I scribbled that bit of trivia in the top margin of my journal page when I was on a teaching trip to Russia. When I journaled that day, I was in Monchegorsk, a military and industrial city north of the Arctic Circle. It was the second Arctic city in Russia where we taught character education based on the life and teachings of Jesus.

                My school year at Woodland Elementary School wasn’t over when I left for Russia, but Phyllis Murphy and Cheryl Price, the superintendent and elementary principal, approved my early departure – as long as I completed the end-of-the-year responsibilities. The third graders I taught that spring enjoyed a crash course about the Kola Peninsula in Russia where I would be going, climaxing with the construction of “cool” hats modeled after the Laplanders’ traditional headwear.

Rhonda Brandt, Amber Phillips, Lauren Goad, Cassidi Pease, and
Jackie Kennedy

Karalea Corley and William Fosnight showing 
the Kola Peninsula on the globe.

Tyler Hillsberg, Aaron Cheves, Josh Alexander, William Gates, Jason 
Dilbeck,Travis Sawyers, Scott Brown, Brady Goad (partially seen). 
The boys were not thrilled about the hats - no wonder. Brady may 
have tried to get out of the picture with "that hat." Actually, it 
most likely was my hasty, poor photography.

Cassi Koch and Leslie Williams modeling
their hats.

           


           How difficult my departure on May 17, became when I found it coincided with Diana Widener’s memorial service. She had been in my Sunday School class in her upper elementary years. Her sudden death left the entire community sorrowing.  Therefore, with a heavy heart, I boarded the plane for London via Dallas.

Diana Widener (Love that smile) & Modene
 Royster, her maternal grandma, in 1990

                In London, our Western team formed as over fifty of us began arriving. We joined in Moscow with the Eastern team, made up of talented, linguistic interpreters from Russia. Our teams prepared for upcoming presentations on character training - at the invitation of each city’s minister of education.

In Kandalaksha, a bright high school student named Olya served as the interpreter for me as I taught Russian teachers in a small group. Nadezhda, an English teacher in Monchegorsk, acted as my interpreter during the convocation in her city.

Olya, my interpreter in Kandalaksha, Marina, Tanya,
              Bernadean, Ludumila, Galena, & Svetlana.
               Seated: Nadya, Pavel, son of Marina, & Valentina

   







Interesting experiences abounded during those two weeks north of the Arctic Circle. I never saw darkness in either city. I sat my alarm for 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. just to be sure. The area was having polar days.

                In Kandalaksha, Nan, my roommate, and I were invited to two Russian homes for dinner during the week. Several local teachers at one of their homes hosted the first evening. Other than Nan and I, the English teacher was the only other English speaker. We were treated royally, communicated quite a bit with gestures since our verbal communication was limited, and sang the Beatles’ hit, “Yesterday” repeatedly since the music teacher brought his guitar and that was one song we all could sing in English.

                Initially, resisting the urge to compare was challenging. Then one teacher told me the only other Americans that had ever visited their region were Canadian hockey players who had made fun of their city. I corrected her quickly, saying, “We all are North Americans, but we are Americans from the United States.”

                From that moment on, I realized the prospect placed before us. No ambassador or diplomat would affect these teachers as we could. Thoughtful words and actions, expressing a genuine regard for our new colleagues, as individuals, not merely citizens of a world power, could foster understanding far better than any program or policy. What an opportunity for lasting good!

                Nan and I were hosted in the home of an engineer from the Port of Kandalaksha. Her sister, an administrator in the city school system, had been an active part of the convocation. Gala, the engineer, was the only woman I met who drove a car. She treated us to a brief tour of the port. Gala said Nan and I were the first Americans to visit the port.

Vera, the school inspector, Bernadean, Vera's sister,
Gala, engineer at this port, Natalya, an English
teacher. This was May 26 after 10 p.m. - notice the
coats and how light the sky was.

                The Russians I met were generous, gracious people, willing to share anything you admired. One of the teachers gave me a rock of eudialyte. She told me the folk legend, explaining that in an ancient battle with the Swedes, the blood of the people native to the Kola Peninsula was spilled and created this beautiful stone, a tangible symbol of the harshness and adversity experienced for centuries by the residents of the area.

Lopar blood stone, a gift from a Russian teacher.

                Many of the teachers I met had stories of hardship and sadness. One of the teachers told how her grandfather had been exiled to this cold region during Stalin’s regime because he had one cow too many. He had two cows. Forced labor from the Stalin’s five gulags erected much of the existing industry’s facilities.

                During one of the sessions, a normally vivacious teacher sobered suddenly  and said, “We have not taught our children to pray for our president. This is why our country is as it is.” I realized as a “government” teacher, at that time in Oklahoma, we didn’t even have a daily “moment of silence.” (It would be enacted by the state legislature in the next decade.)

                Each teacher expressed how much had been gained through the five-day convocation. One wrote in Russian and my interpreter translated it into English: I was greatly impressed with the convocation. It helped me make the choice definitely and accept Jesus Christ. She spoke no English and my Russian was limited to less than a half-dozen phrases, yet we retained a strong rapport throughout the week.

Standing: Bernadean, Rita, Nadezhda, my interpreter.
Seated: Natasha, Nelli, Nadya, & Tanya. Our small
group in Monchegorsk.

                Woodland School and Kandalaksha School #11 became sister schools upon my return. For several years, several elementary and middle school students wrote letters back and forth in a "pen friend" program spearheaded by Galina Timofeeva, the English teacher.

Galena Timofeeva who insisted that
Woodland have a friendship with her
school in Kandalaksha.

                Many years after I returned from Northern Russia, I received a letter mailed from here in the United States by an American who had visited Russia. Inside the envelope was a letter written in Russian, which I was unable to decipher.

I connected with a Uzbekistan engineer who had immigrated to Ponca City with her husband and two children. She translated the letter, which, to my surprise, was from a first grade teacher who I had taught in Kandalaksha. As I read, the story unfolded explaining how the teacher and her husband had chosen to follow Jesus. She sent a photo of the youth group that she and her husband led. She shared how dramatically their lives had been changed. Here was just another reason to be thankful that God led me to carved out three weeks from my life twenty years ago to go to Russia.

A Manx Kitten, an English Poet, and the Hound of Heaven

This little devotional inspired by Bob, the Manx kitten, and written almost a year ago persisted in my thoughts this week. Our society criticizes, compares, and commends. Yet only Jesus, with His love and forgiveness offered to those who seek Him, can cast aside all detrimental baggage and literally allow a person a new beginning when He is embraced and His commands obyed.

Bob on the Outside of the Fence

     Bob, the lovable Manx kitten, had managed to get outside the chain link fence, the boundary for my parents’ large yard. (To read more about Bob, see The Four Little Kittens that was posted on April 27, 2014, The Orphan Kittens - Almost 90 Days Old published on July 6, 2014, or Advice From Bob for a Successful Season of Holidays posted on November 16, 2014) Stray cats with much more attitude and prowess than little Bob often roamed outside the yard fence. Bob had climbed onto the little brick bench so he could leap through the narrow opening between the gate and the fence post. He ran into the storage shed as soon as he escaped the confines of the yard fence. Then he raced out to the area where hay bales had been stored in the winter. How excited he was to be outside the restraint of the fence! Then he noticed me getting Tailer, his litter mate. Suddenly, Bob wanted back in the protective, loving confinement of the yard fence. He began running along the fence looking for any possible way to get into the yard. Amidst his frantic attempts, I opened the gate, lovingly gave him a stroke or two as I carried him into the yard.

     As I put Bob down and felt him gently rubbing against my shoes, I remembered how God retrieves us from the waywardness of our choices. Francis Thompson, a gifted poet of the 1800s, but also an opium addict, eloquently described the pursuit of God toward sinful, rebellious humans in his poem, The Hound of Heaven. The introductory lines –

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears

I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

 Thompson writing in the voice of God near the end of the poem says –

Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?

“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

I am He whom thou seekest!

      Disobedience is not unique to Francis Thompson, a substance abuser of the 19^th century, or to the bob-tail kitten. The Bible states in Isaiah 53:6 “All of us have strayed away like sheep. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on Him (Jesus) the guilt and sins of us all.” (TLB) This scripture places all humans in the same category of willfulness. 

      Jesus continued the wandering sheep analogy when he taught using the illustration of the lost sheep. He explained a good shepherd would go in search of the errant sheep. He spoke of the rejoicing when the shepherd returned with the reclaimed lamb. Jesus concluded the illustration’s application in Luke 15:7 speaking of the joy in heaven over a wayward person rejecting rebellious ways to turn to embrace God and His way.

      How many times are we like Thompson, running harder as God pursues us gently but persistently? May we be more like Bob, the sweet little orange and white kitten, and realize we can only be safe and satisfied in the loving Presence of very Lord of Heaven. Recognizing our sinful ways, we can turn away from them, and run into the embrace of the steady, never weakening God of forgiveness and restoration. At that moment, the celebration in heaven begins!*

 *Jesus taught about this celebration in Luke 15:7 and 10. 

A photo of Bob around the time the above devotional was
written.

When a Big Bender Kept a Man From Blowing Away

Stay with Me, Goad!

Grover Goad and his family lived west of the farm of Edmund, Sr. and Mamie Gates. The Goad family consisted of Grover and his wife, Mary, and their children, Harold, Otis (Babe), Clara, Carl, George, Bernard, and Dorothy. Families who lived near each other in those days visited, shared, and enjoyed life together.

Mary and Grover Goad. My father always spoke of Mrs. Goad as a person who
practiced and spoke openly of her faith in God. Her faith impacted my dad even
though he did not choose to follow Jesus until he was an adult.
(photograph used courtesy of Osage Tribal Museum, Pawhuska, Oklahoma)

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., was closest in age to Bernard, with Dad being born in 1919 and Bernard’s birth followed a year later. Dad recalled Bernard's enjoyment of playing “Wolf and Dog” during recess at Woodland Grade School, located in the west Big Bend. Based on Dad’s explanation, the game appeared to be a type of tag with “it” being designated by the “wolf.” The kids chose one boy to be the “wolf” with the other boys acting as “dogs,” chasing him until he was caught. Then the hunt began again until the teacher rang the bell for studies to resume in the two-room schoolhouse. As much as the boys in the Bend loved hunting, the recess game of Wolf and Dog was an understandable playtime choice.

My father’s favorite Goad story involved Grove Goad, the father of the boys. My sister and I found this story popping up in almost every task that we helped Dad accomplish.

A severe storm was approaching the Big Bend where Grove Goad lived with his family.  In those days, no sirens sounded and no weather alerts were sent. The Farmers’ Almanac was the closest semblance to our high-tech, meteorological warning systems of today. Assessing the cloud formations in the sky and general weather conditions, the Benders predicted when a storm was imminent.

Everyone on the Goad farm that day went to the cellar but one man. This man scoffed at the others for seeking protection below ground. His attitude changed the moment the wind gusts of the storm hit. Grove Goad, instead of closing the cellar door, tried to pull the frightened man into the cellar. Even though Mr. Goad was a big man weighing near 300 pounds, he could not drag the man into the underground shelter, but his strength and sheer determination enabled him to hold miraculously onto the man, thus saving him from being swept up by the strong winds of the storm. The man kept shouting, “Stay with me, Goad!” The man gained a new respect for the value of storm cellars. After his hair-raising experience of that stormy day, he hastened into  a "fraidy hole" whenever Oklahoma weather threatened his life.

Dad used this phrase “Stay with me, Goad!” when he wanted my sister and me to be strong and not let go of something we were lifting or carrying.  We also heard it if we were doing a difficult task that he feared we were weary of doing, but must stick with the job to reach completion and avoid failure.

Even though Dad has lost his capability to say with fervor, “Stay with me, Goad,” frequently, Angie says it with conviction. I hear it emit from her lips when every fiber of my being is strained and aching. Yet her urging “Stay with me, Goad!” provides the encouragement to persist just a few seconds more so we can achieve what we have worked so hard to do.

As I completed retelling Dad’s favorite Goad story, I reflected that the story is about endurance. The Scripture has many references to God’s enduring love, righteousness, and faithfulness.(See Psalm 107:1, Psalm 111:3, and Psalm 117:2 NIV). The God of heaven and earth endures in our lives and in our world just as Mr. Goad did in saving the man in the storm. When we are willing to yield to the Lord’s direction in our lives and obey Him, by His power, He enables us to persevere or endure, as Mr. Goad made it possible for the helpless man to withstand the storm. James speaks of this perseverance in James 1:2-4 (NIV) when he writes, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

One of my greatest desires is to continue in the tasks that God has given me to do. I realize that only by my daily attentiveness to God’s Word and implementing my trust and reliance upon Him and His promises can I persevere. This comical story from yesteryear can serve as an illustration of endurance and perseverance in our everyday lives.

Jake's Indomitable Spirit

This article, inspired by Jake Marsh, first appeared in the winter 2010 issue of Teachers of Vision. The month of May is Cystic Fibrosis Awareness Month. I hope Jake's indomitable spirit serves as an impetus to motivate readers to a heightened awareness of Cystic Fibrosis. 

An Unlikely Role Model

            On a Thursday morning, just a little after 7 a.m., I stood at my desk in my school classroom. I was overwhelmed. The hectic week had been filled with numerous conferences with my student teacher, preparation for that evening’s parent/teacher conferences, completion of that quarter’s report cards, and to top it off – no computer access thus making impossible the completion of most of my work. For some reason I had also battled a severe headache. As a teacher who likes to be a step ahead, that morning I was feeling several miles behind where I thought I should have been.

            As I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, I glanced down at an assignment that had been handed in the previous day. It was in Braille but had the written translation on it. One sentence instantly leaped off the page at me.  It said, “I am living a great life.” My inner complaints were crushed into bits. This statement had been written by a visually-impaired student who also grappled with cystic fibrosis, which often caused him to struggle throughout the day with convulsive coughing. Yet he quite pleasantly wrote another sentence on down the page, “I am having a great life.” 

            I could attend motivational conferences guaranteeing life-altering changes in my outlook on teaching. Educational books and periodical articles with catchy titles entice battle-worn teachers with miraculous solutions to the difficulties encountered and a cure for their own burnout. This delightful child who lost his sight as an infant due to a medical error inspires me more than the most well-educated, polished presenter or highly acclaimed author.  This courageous student daily lives his life with an optimism and positivity that compels me to retain an attitude and determination that rises above the defeating circumstances of the toughest times. He’s my role model and definitely one deserving of daily emulation.

Jake's class of third graders provided daily support for him. We all benefited from
his humor, insight, and cheerful attitude in our classroom. Memories we made that
year are a joy to recall and will forever be cherished.

An Example of Humility and Excellence

Remembering Virgil Noel Rice

                Virgil Noel Rice was born in the Big Bend community, west of Ralston, on May 8, 1927. He arrived as the fifth child born to Daisy Dean Rainey and Ernest Emel Rice and the youngest of the three sons.

                My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, developed quickly a closeness to Virgil. Less than three years separated Mother and Virgil. No other of her cousins on her mother’s side was closer in age than she and Virgil.

                Mother enjoyed many hours of visiting at his family’s home near the Arkansas River in the Bend.  They both had quiet, gentle natures so understood each other quite well.

Virgil in the
1934 Belford
school group
photo.

                Virgil always excelled at his school studies. He attended Belford Grade School with her. Virgil, as a responsible, mature upperclassman, drove the school bus to transport Big Bend scholars to Burbank High School. My mother had already graduated from high school but was working a temporary job at the bank in Burbank so she rode the bus from her home in the Bend. Move over Uber!

His aspirations to attend Oklahoma A & M College in Stillwater were about to become a reality. Then his father, Ernest Rice, died of cancer at age 60. Virgil’s sense of responsibility to his mother caused him to cancel his plans for college. Instead, he assumed the role of his father and began farming fulltime.

On a lighter note, according to my mother, Leon Lynn and Virgil were great friends. In their early twenties, they purchased convertibles alike. Virgil always drove well-kept vehicles. 

Virgil’s studious nature became evident in his walk with the Lord as he grew into a man who daily studied his Bible. Soon his knowledge became obvious to others, and he was asked to teach Bible classes in the church. A humble man, he never saw his giftedness for teaching the Bible that enabled others to learn, but many who sat under his teaching benefited from the daily cultivation of his relationship with Jesus.

Mother had preserved a couple of photographs from the publication For Land’s Sake. The newspaper dealt specifically with conservation in farming and ranching. In 1966, Virgil began his commitment to conservation of natural resources, which are so important to the farmer. He earned many recognitions from the county chapter as well as at the state level.  He was a pioneer in understanding that the resources given by God require diligent stewardship. 

Helen and Virgil Rice after he received
the Chevron Conservation Tillage Award
in 1987. Helen and Virgil were married
over 50 years. They were a terrific team.

            Virgil had a very generous heart. My first realization of his generosity occurred when I was a preschooler, and my family was hurriedly erecting a house on land bought by my parents a couple of years earlier. When the landowner wanted to move to the land my family leased, preparation began in earnest and at rapid velocity. Virgil took one of his trucks to Oklahoma City. He knew his way around the city and showed my parents and grandparents places to get lumber, plumbing supplies, fixtures of all sorts, and other building essentials. They purchased what was needed, and he transported it back to the Bend.

Innumerable young people and children attended summer church camp thanks to anonymous gifts given each year by Virgil. One could count on him to donate liberally, but silently, to any effort in our church.

Virgil not only gave monetarily to the work of the Lord, but more importantly, of his time. Each Saturday for many years, he contacted kids for his church bus route. He then drove the Ralston Baptist Church’s bus on Sunday morning to provide a ride for a busload of children and youth. Only heaven will reveal the lives impacted by his visits.

The Ralston Baptist Church Bus Team of the 1980s. Counterclockwise: Virgil
Rice, Sharon Stewart, Gayle Reynard, Kendall Richardson, Bob Bradley. 

I recall at his funeral that his niece, Vickie Joy Rice Cabell, delivered a short impromptu eulogy as to his loving and tender care of Aunt Emma. Virgil checked daily on his mother’s youngest sister, Emma Rainey Buckley, who lived alone, even though she was in her 90s. He delivered groceries, took her mail to her, and brightened her day even though he had a full sun-up to sundown day ahead of him. (Virgil was blessed to have his daughter-in-law, Barbara Chapman Rice, lovingly care for him, allowing him to spend his final days in the comfort of his home surrounded by those he loved.) 

When Virgil received his diagnosis of malignant cancer, my mother began to pray in faith, believing he would experience healing. It was devastating to her when his health continued to decline. Her consternation continued at his death. Why would he be taken when he was working fervently to tell people about Jesus and His gift of forgiveness for them? Eventually, Mother had to accept that God had a plan greater than what she could see. Virgil’s life continues to stand as a model of caring for God’s creation and sharing with people, in as many ways possible, with his words and actions, how they could have a full life here on earth through Jesus and spend the afterlife in His presence.

One of my favorite photos of Virgil and his only son, Rick.I took this at the
adult Valentine banquet at Ralston Baptist Church on February 13, 1993.