The Face Plant That Changed Cattle Feeding Time

Thanks to an entry in my journal from December 29, 2015, I can recall this traumatic morning.

                I moved to the farm to assist with Dad’s care and take charge of his daily rehab following his stroke. My sister delighted in telling that I was the sergeant. However, Dad thrived on the exercises and  saw results in his recovery.

Mother remembered hearing me say I liked cattle one time so I was appointed cattle caretaker. In July, I began supplementing the cattle because the drought was so severe in 2012, making grass so scarce. I had already begun daily drawing water for the cattle at the stock tank since the ponds were so low.

            Many times, since that inaugural summer, I revisited that significantly dry year with thanksgiving. The old adage indicated ignorance is bliss and I agreed wholeheartedly since I had nothing to compare with that demanding dry summer so had no experience to affirm how difficult the summer of 2012 was.

                Dad always tried to get his cattle fed as early as he could each morning. He hated for them to go through the day hungry.

                Because of Dad’s pattern, I continued the same protocol with supplemental feeding early each morning. I tried to rise before Dad awakened, feed the cats, and put pellets in the bunk feeders. Then I hurried back to assist him in getting out of bed, so he could sit up briefly in his chair before I followed beside him as he walked to the table for breakfast. Dad could maneuver quite well on his own, but my brother-in-law cautioned Angie and me to always accompany him to avoid a fall.

                On the morning of December 29 of 2012, the thermometer hovered around 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I had overslept until I heard Dad call. (Angie or I slept in the same room where he rested so we could immediately respond to any need he had.) I leaped off the couch to help him, as I internally chided myself for oversleeping and not tending to the cattle.

                Suddenly, I heard a horrendous thud that shook the house. Simultaneously my mother cried out in pain. I moved close to Dad’s face so I could be certain he heard me say with the calmest demeanor I could muster, “Dad, just a minute I will be right back.”

                I rushed into Mother’s bedroom to find her face down next to her bed. Blood oozed from her nose. Without thinking, I began the “stroke” diagnostic questions – Can you tell me your name? What is your birthdate?...

                She responded with an agitated voice, “I know all that. My nose is bleeding. Get something to get it stopped!”

Photo of Mother taken by my sister,
Angie, on December 29, 2012.
Thankfully, she had no broken bones but 
the injury resulted in limited mobility.
Mother does not like this photo, but it
portrays how beat up she looked after
her fall.

                I ran to the bathroom to get towels but thought Mother wouldn’t be pleased with the use of her good towels to staunch blood. Thankfully, I recalled only recently, Angie, Mother, and I had relocated older towels to the back porch. I zipped out to get those vintage, frayed towels and returned handing one to Mother to hold on her own nose since she seemed to be her independent self.

                I trotted into the living room where Dad was. I told him I was getting the home blood pressure monitor so I could take Mother’s BP. As I grabbed the monitor, I also reached out with the other hand to grasp the phone as I went by its base. After getting the cuff in place to ensure a blood press reading, I called Angie. Ben got on the phone and asked several questions that I tried to answer or relay his inquiry to Mother for a response. He assured me that he and Angie were on the way.

                Finally, we got the bleeding stopped. I helped Mother get up and surprisingly, she agreed to use the walker that up to that time had been her bath towel rack. She had injured her arm. Eventually, Ben would diagnose the cause as dizziness or vertigo. Angie and I reprimanded her for knowing she was extremely dizzy when she sat up in bed but foolishly tried to stand up anyway. No wonder she ended up on the floor!

                Even with the major injury interruption starting the day, with Angie and Ben’s arrival, we were able to get Dad’s therapy exercises done and care for Mother without upsetting him. Later in the day, I realized I had never gotten to tend the cattle. Late on that winter day, I got out to feed the cattle finally.

                The next week, I heard Dr. Glenn Selk, the OSU Cooperative Extension cow-calf specialist, on Sun-Up, the agriculture television program focusing on Oklahoma and produced by Oklahoma State University. My mother’s great-niece, Lyndall Stout, hosted the show. What affirmation to hear the professor-emeritus in animal science cite Canadian and British research tying late day or night feeding with daytime calving!

Lyndall Stout, Mother's great niece and Angie
Gates Bradley, my sister at the Gates reunion. I
 have often told Lyndall my only regret is that 
her maternal grandpa, Jess Gates, did not get to
 see her host Sun-Up. Lyndall continues to host 
and serves as executive producer of the program 
dedicated to educate the Oklahoma ag producer.

                Good things can come out of bad situations. To this day, I continue late day feeding of Mother’s little herd. It works in better with my daily schedule and since I am so cold-natured, I can feed in the warmest part of the day. Our calving predominantly occurs during the daylight hours.

Last month, when assisting my brother-in-law and sister with fence-building and a gate installation, right at 4 p.m., the usual time for feeding pellets, the herd began to assemble at the bunk feeders. I commented, “It’s like they wear watches!” Even cattle can adjust to a retired school teacher's tendency to keeping on schedule. 

                As I conclude this posting, the scripture penned by King David of Israel seems so appropriate.

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord,

And He delights in his way.

Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down;

For the Lord upholds him with His hand.

Psalm 37:23-24

Lest anyone think some of us are born good people or we manage to be good by our own designs, King David wrote There is none who does good. (Psalm 14:1) The Apostle Paul restated in his letter to the Romans in chapter 3, verses 10-12.

There is none righteous, no, not one;

There is none who understands;

There is none who seeks after God.

They have all turned aside;

They have altogether become unprofitable;

There is none who does good, no, not one.

As we look to the New Year of 2018, there can hardly be more encouraging words that the words of Jesus in Matthew 9:13. May we, with grateful hearts, embrace and thank Him daily with our heartfelt devotion for the change He brought to our lives and His empowerment to us so we can obey as we internalize His declaration:

For I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.            

Never a Time to Complain...

...Not Even at Christmas

                Our flurry of 21^st century Christmas rituals prompt, almost demand complaining. As I did the morning chores in the crisp, cold of the early morning, I began reflecting on my own complaining this week. Strangely, I heard voices of yesteryear in my mind.

                The words “I’ll just be glad to stay at home” echoed in my memory from earlier this week. Then this morning, I recalled Esther Garrett, a dear friend who has gone on, telling Mother after her first stroke, “I’ve got to have my wheels.” Her independence to hop in her car and go whenever she wanted meant more than almost anything else at that juncture of her life. Yet here I was complaining about that personal freedom.

Junior and Merlene Morris, Esther Garrett, Harvey Myers
at the Adult Banquet at the Ralston Baptist Church in 1990. 
Cassandra Pearman and Shealia Dilbeck are in the background 
on the right of the photograph.

                Each season on the farm has its own necessary daily work. I understand better than ever why we never had more than a day trip as a vacation when Angie and I were growing up. Recently, complaints welled up within me. Then I heard the voice of Mrs. Hill, who had been my neighbor in Fairfax, Oklahoma, in the 1980s. She and her husband were in their 80s, and she was confined to home. (She cooked sitting on a stool near her stove, depending on Mr. Hill to hand her the ingredients as needed. She said he would often say, “You don’t need that.” Whereupon, she retorted, “How much cooking have you done?”) One day I swished over to visit Mr. and Mrs. Hill and voiced how tired I was of working long hours with the planning and grading demands of teaching. She replied gently to me, “Oh honey, just be thankful you can get up and go to work.” Recalling her words reminded me to give thanks for the strength and opportunity to work and accomplish something – whether day-to-day tasks or those responsibilities unique to Christmas.

                Many opportunities on my schedule over the last month will never come again – at least not quite in the way they occurred this December 2017. Dad would frequently say, “It’s one-time through.” I thought of Christmas programs I attended or in which I participated. Those events will never present themselves in the same way they did this year. Dad was implying a 21^st century phrase “Be present.” Only active, wholehearted involvement will bring lasting meaning to the event, whether a family get-together or a Christmas performance.

                Finally, when my frustration erupted over demands on my time and attention, I heard my mother’s quoting of I Corinthians 13:4, “Love suffers long and is kind.” (Sometimes she quotes a newer translation – “Love is patient and kind.”) She delighted in saying laughingly, “It may be easy to suffer long but to be kind while suffering long can be another story!”
                Being present and remaining patient and kind  is tested usually in our interpersonal relationships. Choosing to be attentive during conversations with family members may be one of the most sacrificial gifts one can give this year. Terse exchanges may occur amid the stress of Christmas celebrations. Patience enveloped in kindness can provide an atmosphere of peace and harmony that will be a priceless gift to the matriarch and even patriarch of the family.
                           

                Christmas is a reminder of how God’s love for humans propelled Him to send His Son, God in human form, into the world filled with sin so foreign to the heavenly realm. Yet it wasn’t just for a short visit, but he lived on earth from His birth until His death, sentenced to die for considering Himself equal with God. Once again, God had a higher plan than the sinister execution concocted by humans who were enraged by the perfection of Jesus in stark contrast to human depravity. Their evil scheming allowed the Perfect Son of God to die for imperfect humans to restore them to a right relationship with their Creator and Sustainer. I pray for an awareness and the will to replace my complaining with the thought of God’s wonderful Gift of Jesus coupled with a rehearsal of the blessings of the Christmas season – the ability to go and be where I want and need to be, the strength and willingness to work, the focus to live in the present, knowing it will never return, and the empowerment from the Holy Spirit to be both patient and kind in my relationships.

Merry Christmas

Harve Myers, A Bender Born 151 Years Ago

O. H. Myers, an early day Bender and the father of Harvey Myers, was born on December 18, 1866. What a perfect time to share some interesting facts about Mr. Myers and his family! I am indebted to two granddaughters of Mr. Myers - Kathleen Myers White and Robin Myers for family facts and photographs. 

Three of my four grandparents came to the Big Bend before 1912. Other people came into the peninsula created by the bend made by the Arkansas River. A courageous, hearty spirit was required to venture west of Ralston in those early days to discover the Big Bend. A telling question asked by my maternal grandfather, Calvin Callcayah Smith, may have aptly described the area. He inquired tongue-in-cheek when he first came in 1923, “How in the world did anyone ever find this place?”

One of those early day men was Harve Myers. He had been born in 1866 in Maple City, Kansas. Mr. Myers, as my mother referred to him, was a strong man.    
Men drawn by the appeal of the ruggedness of the Bend embraced Labor omnia vincit" the Latin phrase chosen by the state of Oklahoma for its motto. These men valued women with the same will to work and taught their children to live by "Work conquers all" - the English equivalent of the state motto.

O.H. Myers - used by permission
 from findagrave.com.

My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, recalled the time a rumor circulated in the community that the little Sunday School that met each Sunday morning in the Belford Schoolhouse was going to be forcibly  “shut down.” She said, even though he never attended, Mr. Myers arrived early Sunday morning at the Belford School with his gun. He seated himself on the porch of the school entry and waited for whomever had threatened the small group of people who weekly taught the truths of the Bible. No one against the little Sunday School ever showed up.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., loved to tell how the old timers remembered how astounded the community was when the prim, young schoolteacher, Julia Elizabeth Rice, was courted and married by O. H. Myers, who 26 years older than she was. Community talk buzzed about the “old” man of 53 years marrying that young 27-year-old teacher! The marriage that was the talk of the Bend in 1920 lasted until Mr. Myers's death in 1948.

Julia and Harve Myers -used by
                 permission from the digital
collection of Robin Myers.

 The census records of 1920 revealed that Julia Rice boarded with my father’s maternal grandparents, Robert and Nettie Black, who lived at that time on the Mayse place. Their children  - Tommy, Ruby, and Edna -were being taught by Miss Rice since their ages were 13, 10, and 7 respectively.

My mother related this Myers/Rainey story to me in August of 2007:

The Accident

Shortly after Julia and O.H. “Harve” Myers were married in the latter part of the second decade in the 1900s, they rode to a Big Bend community dance with Gladys Rainey.   Gladys’s youngest sister, Emma, was also a passenger in the Hupmobile.  Julia, the young bride, was riding inside the vehicle with Emma as Gladys drove.  Harve was standing on the passenger side’s running board.  The rough, bumpy country roads of the Big Bend jarred the temperamental lights of the car, causing them to blink off.  At exactly that moment the vehicle approached a fork in the road.  Gladys froze and just held the wheel steady.  She blindly steered the car between the fork straight into a tree stump! 

Harve was thrown from the running board breaking his arm.  Gladys and Julia were shaken but unhurt.  Emma, who had only begrudgingly agreed to attend the dance, struck the windshield with her forehead.  An artery in her temple was severed.  She almost bled to death before arriving at the doctor’s home in Ralston.  Gladys recalled Emma, in a bloody state, being taken into the beautiful residence of the doctor. 

Harve recovered from his broken arm.  Emma carried the scar of the accident until her death at the age of 92.  Gladys and Julia forged a friendship that remained strong until their deaths.  Gladys, however, always used her horrible accident experience to admonish her granddaughters, Angie and Bernadean, to drive carefully!

The Bear Cake  - a remembrance of my own 

            I was only 13 years old in the spring of 1970, but when the shattering news came, I heard 
comments from my grandparents and parents, “She was such a beautiful girl” and “How shocking!”  The unbelievable news was that Gilda Pebble Myers Miller had been killed in a car accident.  (Grandma thought Mr. Myers was "partial" to Gilda. She was his youngest child - born when he was 72 years of age.) Even though I don’t remember ever meeting her, I knew many of her relatives.  When my grandparents were going to express their sympathy to her mother, Julia Myers who was our neighbor living just north of our farm, I tagged along when Grandma asked me to go.

          Mrs. Myers’s small farmhouse seemed extremely crowded mainly with relatives.  Mrs. Myers hugged Grandma.  I always thought Mrs. Myers had smiling eyes.  Even amidst her grief over the tragic death of her youngest daughter, she greeted us warmly.

           Jamison Bear, her deceased daughter’s first husband and father of her older children, had just come to Mrs. Myers’s home with a delicious-looking cake.  With a twinkle in her smiling eyes, she whispered to Grandmother, “Gladys, let’s go have some of this Bear cake.”  The kitchen was less crowded, and the two friends were able to share a few moments of solitude, grief, comforting conversation, and the Bear cake.

  

Within the last month, a friend living in a heavily populated urban area commented to me, “That continued connectedness of a small community gets lost where we live.”

My friend wasn’t bemoaning her lack of genuine friends or caring neighbors. Instead, she longed to have those years and years of shared stories and experiences that provided a foundation of trust, dependability, and comfort from those who loved her ancestors and loved her even before she had been born. 
          May we emulate our ancestors of yesteryear by maintaining time-honored principles of integrity, faith-based living, and a genuine concern for those around us. No other way could honor their legacy more.

Memories of My Father from December 1941

 As we progress with the Christmas season in December of 2017, we often forget the Decembers of the past. 1941, the focus of this posting, found so many American hearts filled with thoughts much more important than the parties to attend, the desserts to prepare, or the gifts under the tree. For this posting, I have edited an excerpt from the first chapter of Dad's military memoirs entitled Okie Over Europe, published in 2015 by his namesake nephew, Daniel Edmund Newland.

As we reflect on this past Christmas season 76 years ago, may we concentrate on what really matters - our family's love, our faith made known to us by the coming of God Himself in the form of a tiny, helpless baby, and His willingness to give His life, spilling His blood so we can experience the freedom of forgiveness and the peace brought only by the Precious Prince of Peace.

It was a cool, crisp December morning with the sun peeking over the eastern horizon as the green 1937 International pickup truck rumbled down the dirt road.  Behind the wheel was a wiry, young man with his father seated next to him. As the dust billowed behind them, his teenage brother was wondering what future awaited his eldest brother. A turning point in the life of Edmund Gates, Jr. was December 18, 1941. He was en route to the Ponca City Post Office to enlist in the Army Air Force just eleven days after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor caught his country completely unaware. 

As Edmund stared out the dusty window, he mused about the responsibilities that he would be leaving for Jess, his younger brother, to do. Edmund had been the primary driver of the family vehicle from the very first day the used pickup truck had been purchased by his hearing-impaired father whose only driving experience had been with a team of horses. Edmund knew Jess was along on this trip to step into the role of driving his father home from Ponca City and then begin bearing even a greater load of helping his father provide for a family who had weathered the Great Depression. Edmund recently had transported his mother and youngest brother along this same stretch of narrow country road for unsuccessful leukemia treatments. The sixth-month-old beloved Baby Johnnie in this family of twelve had died early that very year. 

Edmund continued to force himself to think reassuring thoughts as he steered the well-used truck over the ruts. As the engine of the International purred, Edmund reflected to himself, “Lots of boys have been drafted out of this Big Bend. Every last one of them is now in the army. I don’t want to walk out my war.  I’d rather fight it in the air.” To an outsider looking in, it seemed like a hasty decision on such a life-altering issue, but to Edmund hardened physically by long hours of backbreaking work from his earliest days and toughened mentally and emotionally by immense losses, it seemed like the only sensible decision.

Edmund had decided before leaving his home he wanted to serve in this new method of combat. Despite living in a remote area of Oklahoma, he had seen a new-fangled Piper Cub fly over their farm. Just a decade or so earlier, the Osage Indians had come into vast sums of money because of the discovery of oil in Osage County. The Osages had retained the mineral rights and had become a wealthy group of people. One of his neighbors, the Grove Goad family, had a well-to-do Osage cousin who had bought a Piper Cub. When this flying machine soared above the field where Dad was toiling in the heat, he would lean on his hoe and stop to daydream briefly about flying.  This fascination with flying fostered by the Piper Cub’s flights over the farm coupled with his aversion to carrying a rifle and walking out the war cemented in his mind his choice to enlist in the Army Air Force.

            After about an hour, the three of them arrived in Ponca City. Edmund completed the enlistment paperwork around 10 a.m. He soon learned his train would not depart until 10 p.m. that evening. His father, a descendent of hard-working Germans, answered unemotionally upon hearing the time of the train’s departure, “I can’t stay around here all day, Edmund.  I’ve got chores to do at home. So we better go.” Upon saying this, Edmund, Sr. shook hands with his son and climbed into the International pickup truck with Jess behind the wheel ready to accept the additional responsibility of being the oldest son now at home. Edmund waved to them as they departed for the farm.

Edmund wandered around Ponca City just killing time. Contrary to what many might believe, he was not troubled by his father and brother abruptly bidding him good-bye. Edmund knew the only way his father had survived the Great Depression was by backbreaking work literally from sunup until sundown.  His papa and mama had never coddled him, but he was assured of their love. Long ago his parents had learned to deal with the harshness of life. Edmund did not realize it, but ironically, his own ability to handle the stark reality of life and death and continue to live life with a sense of purpose would serve him well over the next three years.

Edmund traveled by rail to Oklahoma City that evening. He was met at the train station and taken for the night to a large building. The following morning on December 19, he and seventy-five other young men took the military oath. 

Edmund’s father had always quoted Benjamin Franklin who had said, “Put your purse into your head and no man can take it from you.” The quotation had impacted him so much that he had copied it in a quotation collection he had been required to compile in his high school days. Edmund had always preferred the outdoors and vigorous activity to time spent at a desk poring over books.  Yet once again the path that he had chosen greatly influenced his placement in the military.  Although Edmund had never dreamed his attainment of a high school diploma would so strategically affect his life, the first question with which he was confronted was: “How much education do you have?” He was immediately steered in a different direction from those who had only completed the eleventh grade of high school. 

Cecile Smith, the beloved English teacher, and
Jess Gates, my father's brother who had to step
into the role of the family chauffeur when Dad left
for military service in 1941. This photo was taken
in 1988.

Later he would reflect with deep gratitude on the encouragement he received from Miss Cecilia Smith, his English teacher, enabling him to graduate from high school. The bus ride from his rural community, the Big Bend, to Burbank where his high school was located was sixty-nine miles or a round trip of one hundred thirty-eight miles. Edmund frequently carried a can of cream or several dozen eggs as he walked the one and a half miles to board the school bus. He sold both farm products at the little store in Burbank located just down the hill from the high school. Every penny from the eggs or cream was returned to his mother. Miss Smith knew what hardship Edmund faced just to attend high school, so she worked with him on her lunch break to assist him in meeting her stiff requirements for the senior English course she taught. He could never have imagined the immense value her dedicated instruction would literally mean to his survival. 

Edmund left by bus for Fort Sill at Lawton on December 21^st. He stayed there for a couple of nights. Here he was surrounded by strangers and unable to even find the mess hall while there.  This backward, country boy survived on candy bars from the PX, the abbreviation for Post Exchange, otherwise known as the base store. The other seventy-five men departed, and Edmund was left to guard the barracks. He never knew why he was chosen for this assignment, but he had no apprehension about being by himself. A sense of lonesomeness that night did not even cross his mind. He just went to bed, relaxed, and went right off to sleep although he had been left in those vast, empty quarters by himself. 

Sheppard Field at Wichita Falls, Texas, was Edmund’s next destination by bus. A corporal calling, “Fall In!” caused him to immediately come to attention.  He thought the corporal was a general. Edmund never questioned the rank of the soldier issuing the command. He had been taught to immediately respond to a person in authority over him. 

My father and Anna Cox,
Bertie's older sister, on
Christmas Day, 1941.

Kathleen Myers White, my mother, Bernyce
Smith Gates,and Ruby Cox Myers, Kathleen's
mother and Bertie's sister. The happy occasion
was my parents' 50th wedding anniversary in 1998.

         Edmund was restricted to the base at Sheppard Field during Christmas of 1941. Bertie Cox, another Oklahoman from the Big Bend community, was also stationed at Sheppard Field. He informed Edmund that his family was coming for Christmas Day to Wichita Falls.  Bertie invited Edmund to spend the day with them. Edmund jumped at the chance to be with friends on the holiday rather than alone on the base. He requested and was granted permission to leave the base for the holiday celebration. The Cox family had prepared and packed a delicious Christmas dinner for them to enjoy together. Their hospitality made Edmund’s first Christmas away from home a little less lonely.

Six Years Later - All Things Worked For Good...

...To Those Who Love Him

Six years ago, the first weekend of December provided an early Christmas gift for Oklahoma State fans. That Bedlam game, as my dad said, “went our way.” Our entire family found ourselves together in Stillwater -just not at the Boone.

Instead, we were in Mother’s hospital room at Stillwater Medical Center. For the third time within a four months, we had traveled to the emergency room. The first visit culminated with Mother’s gall bladder surgery in August. The second time on Labor Day weekend resulted in symptoms subsiding and a return trip to the Big Bend.

This third trip involved a five-day hospital stay for Mother due to a blockage. Finally, Dr. Cara Pence, Mother’s doctor, released her but noted the ultrasound showed a dark place. She encouraged Mother to celebrate Christmas and ring in the New Year. She advised scheduling an appointment for early January.

Christmas Eve came in a quiet, serene manner that Saturday night. Our Christmas Eve family tradition comprised a reading of the Christmas story from Luke 2 and then exchanging our gifts - but not in 2011. Instead, Mother, Dad, and I listened to a Thunder basketball game and then read the Luke 2 Christmas account. Later I played Christmas carols on the dulcimer. The next day, we celebrated Christmas Day quietly by attending worship services that Sunday. During the month of December, we had no family celebration since Angie had a severe case of pneumonia. Only Ben’s attentive medical care kept her from being hospitalized.

My parents, Edmund and Bernyce Smith Gates - Christmas 2011

                In mid-January, we learned the dark place on Mother’s ultrasound was a mass indicating a malignancy. She received a confirmation of this initial diagnosis during the appointment with her surgeon in February. Both doctors recommended surgery, adamantly stating the early discovery of her malignancy before any symptoms were presented meant only surgery would be required.

                Even though we began the year with a fire causing the total loss of Dad’s barn on New Year’s Day, he was not hurt nor was his beloved vintage pickup. Even though Angie’s slow recovery prevented us from sharing our belated Christmas together until January, but we had a delightful time together although our celebration was almost two weeks late. Even though our biggest hurdle came in early March with Dad’s first stroke, he quickly became known as one of the hardest working patients for his therapists. Finally, while Dad completed his last week of rehabilitation, Mother had surgery. She was declared cancer free and remains so as of the posting of this blog post.

                This family remembrance illustrates the meaning of Romans 8:28 – And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. Six years ago, this week, our family wondered why Mother was experiencing multiple health problems. Yet the difficult week in December that invaded Mother’s life in 2011, now is recalled as a gift from God to redirect her attention to a health concern that would otherwise have gone for months or even years unnoticed.

                Ella Wheeler Cox, an American poet born in the mid-1800s, crafted a poem entitled Whatever Is – Is Best. The final stanza is below –

I know there are no errors,

In the great Eternal plan,

And all things work together

For the final good of man.

And I know when my soul speeds onward,

In its grand Eternal quest,

I shall say as I look back earthward,

Whatever is – is best.

(The Best Loved Poems of the American People, 1936)

                May God give us hearts full of faith and implicit trust in Him, knowing He is in control of what happens to those who love Him. In times of cloudy uncertainty may we seek His gift of grace to trust Him in the overcast when the horizon is unseen, knowing full well Jesus is the light in the dark moments. With our eyes on Him, may  we continue following Him, not for what we might receive, but out of our love for Him.

An Inspiring Christmas List

I wrote this last Christmas season after a convicting, but inspiring conversation with a former student. Sometimes this time of year seems like a big birthday bash has been "thrown" but the honoree has been purposefully not invited to the event or even worse yet is rudely ignored,with those in attendance taking particular effort not to acknowledge the one having the birthday. Each birthday guest exerts painstaking endeavors to not even breathe the name of the honored one.

Then He said to them, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions." Luke 12:15 (NIV)

Seeing my former third graders rear children of character remains one of my greatest joys. Recently a dearly-loved former third grader told me of her preteen daughter’s Christmas list.

“Miss Gates, she has on her Christmas list – a Clydesdale horse, a pig, chickens, a chicken coop. That’s all! She only put the Clydesdale on her list since she had such a great time driving a wagon pulled by one recently.” (Her mother had been wheedling her to add more items to her wish list so this preteen added the thing that was most on her mind - the Clydesdale horse!)

Her mother reminded her the baby chicks that she wanted would thrive better in the springtime near her birthday. The bright young lady thought the chickens and the chicken coop would be perfect birthday gifts.  She still could not think of anything else she wanted.

How convicting! This preteen’s list consisted of a pig for developing her livestock showing skills and chicks to raise into hens so she could gather farm-fresh eggs for her family. The chicken coop she requested showed she was thinking of the safety of the poultry she wanted. She had already acquired an unselfish attitude toward life.

I hope I can emulate this middle schooler’s focus on desiring things in my life that will enrich the lives of others – not just myself. This sacrificial outlook in our lives mirrors the true meaning of Christmas. Jesus laid aside the power of His position in heaven as the only begotten of the Father and confined Himself to a human body to come to earth. The impetus for His decision sprang from His desire to redeem us. He became sin for us that we might become righteous through His death.

Christmas Ornament Given by Sandy
Batschlett, my friend and my teaching
assistant in 2002-2003 at Woodland
Elementary School in our third grade
classroom.

May my Christmas schedule of activities be motivated by reaching out to others to reflect the love of Jesus. I hope to choose between events that will exalt the Savior of Christmas and give the gift of my presence to encourage others instead of merely indulging myself.

What does your Christmas list or schedule reveal? Let’s make it about Him and others instead of ourselves.

A Few Suggestions:

• Listen to Christmas Carols or Songs that Uplift Jesus
• Read Matthew 1:18-25
• After reading the above passage, meditate on the faith and trust that Joseph must have had.
• Read Luke 2:1-20
• Following the reading of the above verses in Luke, think about being in the stable that night.
• Reflect, while looking at beautiful Christmas lights, on the wonder and joy of the shepherds when told of the birth of the Savior, Christ the Lord.
• Read Isaiah 9:6-7
• Attend a program or concert that specifically honors the birth of Jesus.
• Sit quietly a few minutes while reflecting on the miracle of God becoming a human baby for the explicit purpose of dying for sinful humans.

There's Always a Reason to Give Thanks

My prayer list grows daily. So many people are dealing with grief, loss, and serious illness within their family. As my heart continues to ache for many friends who have suffered devastating losses since last Thanksgiving, may this family recollection from a Thanksgiving twenty-five years ago provide encouragement to focus on an attitude of gratitude.This posting originally appeared with the title, "The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn't" on November 23, 2014.
The Thanksgiving of 1982

                A strong woman was born in 1924. Bernyce Smith Gates, my mother and the only child of her parents, showed her strength at seven when her mother, a trained nurse, began assisting families in the community. These neighbors could not afford health care during the Great Depression of the 1930s. In Grandmother’s absence, Mother helped her father prepare meals as she stood on a stool so she could reach the stove. Soon she was cooking complete meals. Mother worked in the fields with her parents as they farmed. She excelled in school even though she always walked to grade school and rode a lengthy bus route in high school.
              My most vivid memory of her strength was in the fall of 1982. Mother had watched her parents weaken in health and had spent about two years giving them full-time assistance. She had put her own life on hold. Grandfather’s condition deteriorated, and he was hospitalized. Grandmother suffered a massive stroke and was placed in a rehabilitation center over seventy miles away. Within two weeks, Grandfather had died. 
                The week of Thanksgiving rolled around. Grandmother was making little progress in her rehabilitation; however, she had a few weeks of therapy remaining so would not be home for the Thursday holiday.  My sister and I, both in our twenties, were devastated by the loss of Grandpa since our maternal grandparents had lived with us all our lives.  We both said, “Let’s not have a family Thanksgiving celebration.”  Mother, without blinking an eye or pausing a second to reflect on her response, immediately shot back, “Thanksgiving is about being thankful.” 
            We celebrated Thanksgiving that year because my mother knew there was always a reason to give thanks even though she had just lost her beloved father to death and her mother, a once vibrant, intelligent, creative woman was lying helpless in a rehabilitation center. This pivotal moment in time has provided strength for me whenever I am faced with insurmountable difficulties and want to give up.
            Anyone who knows my mother knows her as a champion supporter of family, orchestrating events in her home to make anyone she considers family or friends comfortable and welcome. Her entire life has been devoted to being a keeper of her home, bolstering her family all the while. Mother would never put down family celebrations, but she hearkens back to a time when the emphasis was on the actual commemoration. She recalls the time when Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter were religious days. Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Veterans Day were times to remember deceased loved ones, the miraculous birth of our nation, and the sacrifice of young men she had known all her life – not a time for shopping the aggressively touted sales, publicized as must participation for the savvy shopper.
            At this season, may we truly give thanks. All of us could spend hours compiling a list of blessings and not even scratch the surface of even the blessings we daily receive. Hopefully, we can take time this week to read and then meditate throughout the week on this psalm of praise.

Psalm 100

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.

Serve the Lord with gladness; come before His presence with singing.

Know ye that the Lord, He is God; it is He who made us, and not we ourselves; 
We are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.

Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise; 
Be thankful unto Him, and bless His name.

For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endureth to all generations.

Autumn trees in the yard at my parents' farm.
Photographed during the Thanksgiving season of 2010.

How Did It Keep From Exploding!

The Melted Battery Cable

               After unsuccessfully trying for a prolonged time to get Caramel, Mother's herd bull, back onto our place instead of the neighbor's pasture, I felt some discouragement. With a sense of failure, I walked to the old pickup to return to the house since I knew Mother would be concerned about where I was. Probably I drove a little too fast over the rocky, steep draw. When I reached the bottom of it, the pickup stopped dead still, with smoke coming from the right front side of the hood. I hopped out of the pickup, deciding it might be overheated, and trudged dejectedly to the house.

                After a couple of hours, I walked back and prayed as I drew closer to the stalled pickup. I thought to myself, Maybe it has to do with the battery.

                Upon reaching the 1990 Ford F-150, I popped the hood and noticed the battery cable was burned in two. Ignorance is bliss or downright foolish, but I knew the cable needed to be connected to the battery. I put them together, got in, turned the key, and it started. I slowly drove it to the house and parked it, deciding to limit its use until my brother-in-law evaluated it. I breathed a prayer of thanks to get it back to its shed. That had been important to Dad even after his stroke. No matter how old his pickup was, it needed to be sheltered.

                My brother-in-law has worked ER rooms with fatality cases. Daily as an ARNP, he sees patients with serious issues. He doesn’t get too excited because he has walked me calmly through emergencies with Mother and Dad. When he looked at the battery, he exclaimed, “How did this keep from exploding on you?”

                He proceeded to explain that hitting a rock had caused the power cable going to the wench to short out against the frame of the pickup and had grounded out the battery, which explained the melted battery cable post. More than once he shook his head and said, “I can’t believe the battery didn’t explode.”

                Many times, God protects us from serious injury. He protects us on so many levels, whether entering unwise relationships, making potentially detrimental financial decisions, traveling in dangerous territory, or 1,001 other scenarios. Only eternity will reveal how many times God dispatched His angels to protect His children.

                This week may we express thanksgiving to the Father who has saved us through our trust in the precious blood that Jesus willingly gave for us, knowing daily His protection envelops us.

A Verse for Meditation This Week:

For He shall give His angels charge over you,

To keep you in all your ways.

In their hands they shall bear you up,

Lest you dash your foot against a stone.

Psalm 91:11-12          

Memories From 20 Years Ago

Ralston Baptist Church marked its centennial year on November 9, 1997. This week, twenty years hence, seemed an appropriate time to present some visual remembrances from two decades ago.

Centennial Service - 1997

Mary and Ray Moffeit at the
 Centennial Celebration. Ray
 pastored during the 
centennial  year.

How shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed?
And how shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard?
And how shall they hear without a preacher?
And how shall they preach unless they are sent? As it is written:
"How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the gospel of peace,
Who bring glad tidings of good things!" Romans 10: 14-15

Centennial Service

Centennial Lunch in the Unfinished Fellowship Hall

Rick Rice and John Crowley, pastored the church from
1974-1979. He continues pastoring today near Miami, OK.

Charles Welch, interim pastor in 1984, 1986, 1988,
 visited with Geraldine Forbes. Bro. Charles died in
2008.

Joe Urbon, oldest pastor in attendance, visited with
Pam Morris Felix. He came as pastor in 1960. He 
died in 2009.

Gregg, Krystal, Whitney, Kallie, and Torie at his
ordination when he pastored at Ralston FBC.
20 years ago at the Centennial, he touched hearts
as he sang, "Precious Memories" and the girls
sang, "Come Just As You Are."

Ralston FBC was Larry Wilson's first pastorate
 in 1986. He and Debbie enjoyed reuniting with
friends at the 100th anniversary in 1997.

              Those who are wise shall shine 

Like the brightness of the firmament,

And those who turn many to righteousness

Like the stars forever and ever.

Daniel 12:3

120 Years in Ralston

On  Sunday, November 5, several former pastors, pastors' wives, and former members will be back to mark the 120^th year of the Ralston Baptist Church. 
A worship service will be at 10:30 a.m. with lunch at noon. To God Be the Glory!

Marking 120 Years in November 

The last couple of months found me perusing hundreds of photographs connected to the Ralston Baptist Church. The pictures I viewed ranged back to the 1970s. Many faces I gazed upon are now in eternity.

Daisy Bernet

Twenty years ago, I served on the centennial committee in charge of planning the observation of the 100^th anniversary of the church. It was founded on November 9, 1897. Daisy Bernet – always Mrs. Bernet to me – related of how her grandfather, Ira Henderson, helped the tiny congregation in Ralston organize by traveling across the Arkansas River from the Osage in a small boat she called a skiff. Mrs. Bernet as a spry, enthusiastic lover of life inspired me since she shared the same profession with me - teaching.

Elisabeth Kelly

              A humorous story came to me two decades ago from Elisabeth Henderson Kelly. She had been told the first church building was destroyed by a fire allegedly started by the pastor’s son. Even though she had faced tragedy and pain, Elisabeth usually had a funny twist to her stories to evoke a laugh from her listener. In 1997 at the centennial event, Elisabeth was recognized as the longest one with membership in the church.

When I was only a seventh grader, Mrs. Lelia Goodson Baker, requested I come to Ralston Baptist Church to play the piano. Mrs. Baker, an accomplished pianist, suffered from ill health with no one to play in her place for worship services. Not even knowing what an offertory was, I began playing with guidance from my mother, an accomplished accompanist herself, and my gifted piano instructor, Mildred Wedell. (Mr. and Mrs. Baker donated a new Story and Clark piano, one of my favorites to play. To protect it from rain  leaking from the archaic structure's roof, they fastidiously covered it with a huge plastic covering after each service.)

Lelia Baker & Laura Hines 

         Laura Hines served in the card ministry in the small congregation. Mrs. Hines struggled with each step she took. Looking back now, I recognize how much she needed a hip replacement, but she never complained. Instead she provided loving support to her sister, Vera, and assisted any way she could. Week after week the cards she sent provided encouragement and comfort throughout the community.

Effie Rice 

      In those early days, Ralston Baptist Church building was still at its original location on the north side of Main Street just east of 1^st Street. I can remember Effie Stark Rice walking slowly, but faithfully each week across Highway 18 (Main Street) to worship every Sunday with a cheerful heart and sometimes a little self-composed rhyme.

Modine Royster

        One of my most memorable Vacation Bible Schools occurred in that building that leaked and creaked. VBS was scheduled as soon as school was out to avoid the heat of summer because it was not air-conditioned. Additionally, a May VBS would not conflict with the wheat harvest. Modine Culp Royster served as one of the 7^th-8^th grade teachers. She exuded calmness and patience as she led us through the steps of putting gold leaf on an apothecary jar. I loved that craft experience!

Faces and names fill my mind from my memories of worshiping in the building on Main Street. People who quietly but faithfully followed Jesus each day - ones like Mr. I.P. Royster who provided solid, godly leadership. Mrs. Royster exhibited a smile as she worked wholeheartedly, unselfishly giving of herself. I remember Mrs. Memory Price for carrying a well-worn Bible. (Oh that we had more of those today!) Mrs. Dora Brown’s punctuality and commitment to teach little ones inspired many future teachers. How many more unheralded heroes walked through those doors!

Each of the names I have invoked have gone on to their reward. Each of them would be the first to remind us they served in the kingdom of God in the little community of Ralston not to earn eternal salvation, but instead out of grateful hearts for the undeserved forgiveness given by God because of their faith in Jesus. They would recite for us from Titus –

Not by works of righteousness which we have done

But according to His mercy He saved us…

Paul wrote to the believers in the church at Colosse these words of encouragement in chapter 3, verses 23-24:

And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men,

knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance;

for you serve the Lord the Christ.

Each of you who were impacted or influenced by the Ralston Baptist Church please join us for a celebration of the work of God in this community for 120 years. Only He has been here for each of these years and only He deserves the glory.