One of the Most Unused Sources of Power

Frequently, someone will write or say "I pray for you and your family." My response is one of profuse gratitude because I know from family history and my personal experience, the power of letting God know your needs and waiting and watching for Him to intervene.  

The Exquisite Privilege of Prayer

                God commands His children in Philippians 4:6 to pray about everything. Countless times, we read in the Bible of God intervening on behalf of those who honor His name. Sometimes we need a reminder that He acts in wondrous ways to heal, comfort, and encourage His children.

                My grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, had been “converted” in a life-altering way in 1931, following her father’s death. (To read more of this account, see the blog post entitled The Bittersweet Shared Birthday posted on August 10, 2014.) Her concern for her husband to be right with God, through Jesus, became her aim. The small congregation of the country church joined with her to fast and pray. Soon Grandpa, Calvin Callcayah Smith, made a commitment that changed his habits, behaviors, and his life. (My account of Grandpa’s surrender to Jesus is chronicled in the blog entitled The Legacy posted on March 9, 2014.)

                Grandma  also told of the illness of her dear friend, Ruth Woods. Ruth lived in the Big Bend, with her husband, Perry and their children. Perry and Grandpa shared a love of baseball as well as their Cherokee heritage. Ruth became ill suddenly with rheumatic fever, with her joints painfully swollen so that Grandma, who had trained as a nurse, had to cut her clothes from her  extremely enlarged joints. Ruth had contacted a couple of preachers from the Church of God to come to the Big Bend to pray for her. My grandma had returned to the Woods home to deliver laundry she had done for her friend, Ruth. She arrived at the time these men arrived. Following the prayer of these ministers, Ruth arose from her bed, completely healed, giving glory to God for her recovery. Grandma was on her way to attend to a gravely ill baby of near neighbors living in a tent with only a dirt floor. When she observed Ruth's healing, she requested the praying men accompany her. They prayed for the sick baby and its fever broke. In the midst of the Great Depression, God provided healing for a mother and wife and for a tiny baby right in the Bend.

Ray T. Hart with his wife, Ruby, and their daughters,
Becky and Ila Rae. Bro. Ray, as he was known,
was a man of great faith and commitment to the
 mission of helping people understand how God wanted
to enrich their lives. Through a daily interaction with
Jesus,  His presence would permeate each decision and every facet
 of their lives. He planted the Baptist church in the
                            Big Bend, as well as the one in the Masham area.                      

                I recall hearing of an all-night prayer meeting at the old Victor School located at the intersection of State Highway 18 and Masham Road. This was at the beginning of the Masham Baptist Church. Pastor Ray T. Hart was preparing to lead a revival. In those days, revival preparation mainly involved prayer and telling friends and neighbors to come. The all-night prayer meeting was exactly what the name depicts. It was a group of committed Christians meeting together for one night, all through the night, to pray, not eat or fellowship, but pray. A woman living near the Victor Schoolhouse had a sick child. During the night, she got up to check on that child in the wee hours of the morning and happened to look out the window. How astonished she was to see the lights still glowing from the old schoolhouse. As she went back to bed, she commented to her husband, “They are still praying.” Many people, including this couple, committed their lives to the Lord and became faithful workers in the Masham Baptist Church.

My father’s hospice chaplain recently told of an incident in his early days as a modern-day circuit riding Methodist minister in Missouri. He was preaching in four churches each week. He preached in the first church early on Sunday morning, drove to the second church and preached later in the morning. Then he preached on Sunday evening at the third congregation. Finally, he preached in the last church on Wednesday evening.
           One week he found himself low on gasoline for his car as well as money. He preached his message at the first two churches, but didn’t have enough gas to drive the 7 miles to the third church that Sunday evening. He told his wife they would pray and trust the Lord to provide for them to get to the church that night. A five-gallon can of gas with a twenty-dollar bill wrapped around the can’s nozzle appeared in his driveway. The Lord provided enough gas to get to the church that Sunday evening and money to buy gas to get to the fourth church on Wednesday night.
            Later our chaplain would learn the Lord impressed a neighbor to give the gas and cash to him that very day. What a tangible example that the Lord hears our prayers, cares immensely about us, and will meet our needs! We must trust and not worry, but wait to see God’s provision for us. May we have sensitivity to His voice leading us to act in His name and promptness to obey whatever He commands, wherever His hand directs, and whenever He moves on our hearts.

Almost everyday this week, I have had friends share spectacular ways God has been faithful in their lives, the lives of their loved ones, and their work because of answered prayers – prayers they could never contrive the answers to by themselves. God is still faithful if He is called upon, allowed to work in our lives, and abundantly meet our needs..

II Chronicles 7:14 expresses such power from prayer. No policy, whether economic or trade or any other type, provides the answer for the United States. Only true believers humbling themselves  before God, seeking His face, and praying provides hope for our country.
            The sad truth is not that prayer no longer works. The reality is that prayer is no longer genuinely attempted and done. This week, when a need arises, talk to the Lord first and watch Him work on your behalf.

II Chronicles 7:14 – If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.

Witty Wisecracks and Wisdom of Edmund Gates, Jr.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., celebrated his 96th birthday on June 15. His speech is limited so he no longer uses these sayings. However, my family finds ourselves using his witticisms. I will use one of his phrases and then ask him if he recalls saying it. He soberly nods in the affirmative. 

Sayings of My Father

                My father didn’t speak very often or for very long without using one of his tried and true sayings. They were an active part of his communication, usually for humor or succinctness.

                Here are a few of the ones I recall best:

It’s bad, but who ain’t got it bad?  Dad was sympathizing with my sister and me, but telling us to be strong and not complain because everybody has difficulties so why talk about them.

It’s a tough egg.  – Again this was Dad’s way of empathizing with the particular situation and its particular set of problems.

I feel good! – Dad used this often with Mother, many times in the mornings. Frequently, he emphasized how great he felt with a high kick!

It’s nothing like fightin’ the Germans.  – This was Dad’s code language for letting Angie, my sister, and me know unequivocally that nothing we could experience would be anything like flying combat missions over enemy territory during World War II.
Stay with me, Goad! – For a humorous explanation of the origin of this saying, go to the blog entry entitled When a Big Bender Kept a Man From Blowing Away. It was posted on May 17, 2015.

He’s/She’s dancin’ now! –Dad used this when someone was extremely active. He usually used this with me since I would have moments of exuberation and elation, with me “feeling the music” or as Dad would say “feeling good.”

I’ll be sitting on my barracks bag. –Having served in World War II in the Army Air Force from 1941 through 1945, Dad always prided himself that he never missed a train, ship, or even a plane headed into combat. Of course, the barracks bag held all his worldly belongings while serving. He had it all packed and sat on it as he waited for departure. It was his way to encourage promptness and punctuality.

He/She looked like a bar of soap after a hard day’s washing. – Dad usually used this statement to refer to people who looked haggardly or “spent.”  Whether it was life choices or hardships inflicted upon them by others, their faces told the tale. Unfortunately, I’ve looked in the mirror following retirement  and frightened myself.

Work never hurt anyone. –Dad came by this belief honestly. To read of one way he learned this, see the blog post , Maybe It Was Spring Fever, published on April 12, 2015. He and my mother were in total agreement about this, since she often reminded us, when we were children and especially teenagers,  that God instituted work for Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden prior to their choice to sin. She would say, “There is nothing bad about work. In fact, you can have a sense of satisfaction when you finish the job.”
Everybody works at our house!- Dad loved to say this when everyone was working on a common goal, such as in the summer when Grandpa and Grandma Smith, my maternal grandparents, my mother, my sister, and I were picking green beans from the garden, "breaking" the beans, canning the beans, labeling the jars, and transporting the canned green beans below to the cellar. Mother's aim was to process at least 52 quarts - a quart for each Sunday dinner of the year. On the farm, everyone has to work to be successful.

 The world wasn’t made in a day. –Dad used this phrase to calm me down if I was feverishly going about a job – usually because I wanted to get finished with the task, not so we could get on to other “work.” God systematically created the world in an orderly, paced manner. Dad was trying to teach me to have a measured pace, neither too slow nor too fast, at whatever I attempted. I am still amazed at how much he accomplished in his late 80s and early 90s following this principle.

You have a lazy man’s load. – Whenever I tried to carry an enormous load or an excessive heavy load, Dad used this saying. He said the lazy man tried to get the job done, never mindful of the chance of drop things or hurting oneself in the process. Dad was trying to teach the importance of systematically, methodically, and wisely doing every task instead of just trying to get it done.

I’m good to her every day of the year. –Dad seldom bought Mother gifts on Christmas, Valentine’s Day, their wedding anniversary, or her birthday. Actually, in their early days of marriage, he bought expensive gifts of sterling silver flatwear, collectible vases, gorgeous jewelry, and stylish clothes. (Angie speculates that the arrival of his daughters took all the extra gift money!) When Angie and I questioned him about his seeming failure to acknowledge such important days, his response was always the same, “I’m good to her every day of the year.” That’s a pretty good philosophy for making a relationship last almost 70 years.

Christians ought to be happy people. –Dad was known for relating stories between hymns during the Sunday evening worship service at our church. He had this prerogative since he led the music at our church. Frequently, he had the congregation laughing uproariously, hardly what one would expect from a worship experience. Dad believed that people that had their faith in Jesus to forgive their sins and were on the road to heaven should be happy people because Paul wrote in Romans 8:32:

 He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all –how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things? (NIV)

Dad’s line of thinking was why would God’s people not be joyous. I’ve had more people than I can count who have commented on Dad’s great attitude no matter where they met him.

Godliness with contentment is great gain. –This verse written by the Apostle Paul in his letter to Timothy, a young pastor, has been one of Dad’s “go-to” Bible passages. Dad believes that if we put God in His rightful first place in our hearts and lives with our words and actions, we will find contentment within and experiences more riches in our spirit than all the money in the world could buy. Dad continues to live by this verse and experiences much contentment even though his life is much different than he ever imagined it would be.

Singing on Grandpa's Birthday

          June 16th will mark the 138th birthday of my paternal grandfather, Edmund Gates, Sr. I found a delightful, casual photograph taken by my mother on one of my grandfather's last birthdays.

            How true the adage “A picture is worth a thousand words.” When I found this photograph in my mother’s collection, memories flooded my mind. This appears to have been the one of the last birthday celebrations for Grandpa Gates.

I could not count the times I gazed at the  tiny shelf above the kitchen sink (shown in the background of the photo) as my parents were saying their good-byes to Grandma Gates or other family members. As a child, it seemed a whole new conversation began as my parents parted ways from their loved ones, so I had plenty of time to observe that little cabinet above Grandma's kitchen sink.

Looking at the round wooden table on which the birthday dinner was setting, I realized that I never sat at that table until I was a freshman in college. Being seated at the round dining table was assigned based on age or status. Many, many family members were older than me. I distinctly remember the Thanksgiving that I first met Barbara Clark Gates as I was seated at the table in Grandma’s kitchen. That may have been the first time I sat at the table! However, I had arrived after the noon meal so I might not have been old enough to sit at the table for lunch, but since the football game had already started, there were available seats for Barbara and me.

Obviously the theme of the photo is the family singing "Happy Birthday" to Grandpa. The singing at Grandpa’s birthday party was joyous and hearty. Music had always been important in the Gates household. Grandpa was notorious for teaching his children laments like “Old Billy Goat” or “Pretty White Kitty, My Pretty White Kitty.” Grandma had a beautiful singing voice, according to my father, Edmund Gates, Jr. I recall listening with delight when my grandma played by ear the organ her son-in-law, Marion Roberts, had given her.

Looking at the photograph revives funny, wonderful memories, but some are bittersweet. I am standing almost directly behind Grandpa Gates and am barely visible. To my right, is Mike Newland, the eldest son of my aunt, Julia Irene Gates Newland, my father’s next to the youngest sister. Mike had a brilliant, creative mind. He had a penchant for writing and wove words in meaningful, descriptions as a skilled weaver intertwined loose thread to craft a breath-taking tapestry.

A copy of Letters to Mickey still graces one of the shelves of my parents’ home. Thousands of letters were sent to Mickey Mantle in his last days. Around 120 of the fan letters were selected to appear, along with Mickey’s final reply to his millions of fans worldwide. Mike’s letter can be read on page 42 of the collection. Mike struggled with his own battle with stroke-complicated disabilites that trapped his voice and expressions for many years, ending in 2014, with his passing.
Mike was a voracious reader. He generously donated and mailed large boxes of used books for my third grade classroom. I treasure the copy of To Kill a Mockingbird that he gave me.

To my left in the photograph stands my cousin, Vickie Gates, the youngest daughter of my father’s brother, Jess. Vickie and I were born the same year but she was about five months older than me. Vickie seemed to always have a cute “pixie” hair cut that suited her perfectly. In my memory, she was outgoing and talkative, whereas I tended toward shyness and being reserved. Vickie liked being in the middle of the action. Even as a kid she showed signs of leadership skills. Yet the year we celebrated our 13^th birthdays, Vickie lost her battle with leukemia less than three weeks before Christmas. As an adult, how I have wished the advances made in leukemia treatment, practically eradicating deaths from it in juveniles, had already been discovered in the 1960s.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr. is on the extreme left of Grandpa. Dad was born one day before Grandpa’s 42^nd birthday. Grandpa had decided this son should be his namesake since their birthdays were so close together. Who could have quessed that his next son, would be born exactly on his 44^th birthday. Tragically, that same son, Fredrick Daniel, was killed by a lightning strike on Sunday, June 16, 1935, on his 14^th birthday and his father’s 58th birthday.

Debbie Gates Marty, Patrick Newland, and Rory Newland are the other cousins in the photograph. In typical Gates fashion, I know that all three of them could relate some superb family memories. The family tales told by the Newland boys would have listeners laughing hilariously. Debbie and I might have more poignant remembrances. 
             In families, no matter what we achieve, how far we go from "home," who we become, or how long ago our memories occurred, as relatives, we share forever the bond of collective times unique to only our family. Never can those be taken from us. Each of our remembrances have impacted who we are. Let's treasure these memories as we cherish each other.

Grandpa Edmund Gates, Sr.'s birthday celebration in the two-room house in which he and Grandma
had raised 12 children. Left to right: Debbie Gates Marty, Patrick Newland, Mike Newland, me
(Bernadean Gates) barely visible behind Grandpa, Vickie Gates, Rory Newland, with his head barely
visible behind the cake, and Edmund Gates, Jr., my father.

Summer School in the Early 20th Century

Our situations change overnight sometimes. This article was orginally published in Teachers of Vision in the Spring 2010 issue. At that time I thought I would be teaching at least through 2015. That forward thinking is reflected in this article. I resisted the impulse to edit the article to reflect my retirement following Dad's stroke. Instead the article appears below as it was originally published. It serves as a reminder of how quickly and completely our goals in life can be refocused, but the timeless principles of our ancestors remain changeless and provide  stability and direction no matter where we find ourselves.

A Legacy Worth Continuing

Almost a decade is a lengthy time, especially to the young. That is the age difference between my colleague, Dawn Thompson, and me. I first remember Dawn when she began kindergarten at our small, rural school where I was a freshman in high school. We had very little in common at that time, but how maturity has a way of diminishing those age gaps. Now as we completed our fourth year of teaching together, we comment frequently about the similarity of our teaching styles and work ethic. We thank God daily for allowing us to be in such a mutually affirming teaching relationship. Yet one of our strongest threads of connection stretched back to the distant past to the summer of 1919.

In 1919, less than a year after the end of World War I, our grandmothers had just completed a juncture of their education. Lucy McCollough, Dawn’s grandmother, had made history in our hometown of Ralston by earning the distinction of being the first high school graduate of a relatively young town. My grandmother, Gladys Rainey, had completed as she said “four years in the eighth grade.” I was baffled by that statement as a child. Now with a better understanding of the “custom-fit” approach by many top-notch educators teaching in those one-room schools of yesteryear, I know she was progressing each year even though the country school was only graded up to the eighth grade. During that time she earned the distinction of being the county spelling bee champion.

The paths of our grandmothers crossed that summer of 1919 as they began a summer teachers training at Oklahoma A&M College in Stillwater, Oklahoma. (Its name has since been changed to Oklahoma State University, and coincidentally, Dawn and I earned our degrees in education at Oklahoma State University.) At that point in time, Oklahoma had been a state in the Union just eleven years. The fledgling state’s teacher training requirements allowed a prospective teacher to attend only a three-month session as Lucy and Gladys did, pass a test, and earn certification to teach first grade through eighth grade in the numerous one-room schools that dotted the Oklahoma landscape in that era.

Ironically, these two farm girls were roommates for that hot summer session. Apparently, from stories told by Gladys, my daredevil grandmother, only the older students living in the dormitory were entitled to ice in the evenings. Gladys, with determination and grit, told Lucy she was going to get some ice to sustain them through the sweltering Oklahoma heat. As Lucy, who respected rules and authority, waited with trepidation and worry, her defiant roommate scaled a partition and procured ice to make their evening (and many more after that) tolerable in their dormitory room, which predated the air conditioning that we enjoy today.

That fall, Lucy secured a job teaching in a one-room country school. She went on to teach at several more country schools. Dawn cherishes her deceased father’s eighth grade diploma with her grandmother’s signature on it as his teacher. Lucy McCollough Summy was a career woman when it was not the norm. She taught school, was a wife in a very traditional role and reared five children. Her marriage to Dawn’s grandfather lasted seventy-three years until her death.

On the other hand, Gladys was offered a teaching position at a country school but was strongly urged by her parents not to accept the job since a respected neighbor familiar with that school’s reputation said the previous teachers “had been beaten up and run off.” She rejected that teaching job and then began nursing training. She married my grandfather before completing the nursing training. Gladys Rainey Smith served tirelessly during the Great Depression providing free of charge nursing care to those in her community. She was often away from her home, my grandfather and my mother for days at a time. Some credited her nursing skill with saving the lives of their children and loved ones. Although Grandmother never used her teacher’s training professionally, she taught many years in Sunday School and in Vacation Bible School. She quite capably balanced her service in the Lord’s work, extensive commitment in the community and her home with a marriage of fifty-nine years.

Dawn and I know the lives of these two women profoundly impact us personally and professionally. Lucy’s stamina and determination to be a successful teacher, wife and mother provide inspiration to Dawn who also balances these three roles. Snippets of memories such as her grandmother using a horse-drawn wagon to manage the commute to school or always having home cooked meals even after teaching all day strengthens Dawn in her daily endeavors. When laundry becomes a drudgery for Dawn, she recalls the separate wash house behind her grandparents’ home which housed the archaic wringer-type washing machine which had been used by her grandmother and symbolized the laboriousness of laundry in that day and time.

My grandmother’s creativity in teaching is paramount in my memory. She always put whatever effort was needed into her preparation to capture the interest and positively impact her students in Sunday School or Vacation Bible School. Memories of Grandmother’s determination and persistence often drive me, in spite of fatigue, to complete one more task in order to be prepared for the next day. Grandmother always thrived on the challenge of reaching the most difficult child. She believed every child could learn and achieve before it became a common philosophy in education.

The power of these influences, dating back to 1919, propels Dawn and me to weather the  onslaught of the constantly increasing standards by which we educate our third graders as well as the demands to teach an insurmountable number of subjects. When called on to implement new programs or asked to address myriad topics in limited class time, we  hearken  back to the voices of wisdom and experience from Lucy and Gladys. Whether responding to the ever-changing face of technology in our instruction or the formidable situations in the lives of some students, we draw strength and courage to daily live out the legacy our grandmothers began so long ago. We each pray daily to teach, as well as live our lives, with the purpose and fervor of two of the best teachers we ever knew. With the bequest inherited from these two illustrious women, Dawn and I, as twenty-first century teachers, proudly carry on this legacy of educational excellence.

Photo of my grandma, Gladys
Vivian  Rainey Smith in her dorm
 room  at Oklahoma A and M in 1919.