She Stood Tallest in Her Deepest Valleys

She Was Bigger Than Life

                I met Nelda June Shafer upon being hired to teach at Marlin Crowder Elementary in Fairfax, Oklahoma, in the fall of 1979. Nelda exuded a warmth and friendliness, but there was so much more to her.

                Soon I would learn from my mother of the time Nelda spent in the Big Bend as a child, attending Belford Grade School. Mother extolled the godly character of Nelda’s mother, Rhoda McKinney, as well as Nelda’s grandmother, Mrs. Knight.

                Nelda came to the field of education later in life than some of us. She brought a common-sense approach to education. Foundationally, she loved each student. She cared about the efforts made by each parent. Her compassion and endeavor to reach each student knew no bounds.

                Nelda loved to laugh. How often she orchestrated a practical joke, getting as many other faculty members involved as possible! It seemed her favorite targets were Woogie Adams and Burley Hathcoat. The retelling of her elaborate ruses brought as much laughter to Nelda and the rest of us as the initial incident itself had.

                Yet the strong inner part of Nelda made her who she was. In the spring of 1987, I observed this. I recall Sharon Stewart leaning over to me in the choir loft of the Ralston Baptist Church on Easter Sunday, inquiring if I had heard about Nelda’s daughter. What horror to learn she had been murdered!

                With music interwoven into every fiber of my being, the two of the musical selections chosen by Nelda for Sherri’s funeral service remain indelible in my memory. One was the upbeat song entitled “Angels All Around Me.” “The Only Real Peace That I Have” was the other song. I glimpsed Nelda’s face during the song. Since I have such a sensitive psyche, I always try to never focus on faces, especially eyes, at a funeral. That empathetic part of me tends to “weep with those that weep.” Even though I knew Nelda experienced heart-wrenching grief, she had a persona of peace as the song stated because, “the only real peace that we have, dear Lord, is in You.”           

                Many years later, Nelda and I were required to attend a training. I don’t recall what we were learning or where we drove to learn it. I do remember Nelda was driving. She and I tended to discuss deep or serious issues often when we had a conversation.

                Somehow her Melanie emerged as the topic. I may have asked a few questions, but primarily, I just listened. Nelda told of how she was alone in Oklahoma City when the doctor told her all efforts to allay the ravaging disease wreaking devastation on Melanie’s young body had been exhausted. Nothing more could be done. Nelda had to find her way home to Fairfax. She indicated she had no idea how she drove the two hours for miles and miles. I’m sure she had God’s angels all around her.

                Many times, I have drawn strength from Nelda’s experience in life. Each difficulty she handled with serene grace, a strong faith that God could act on her behalf, and the solid trust that the God who had seen her through so many adversities and trials would see her through whatever the present one was.
                 I remember dropping by to check on her when Shafe, her husband, was gravely ill. We visited a bit and I offered to pray with her. She said, "Just pray he can live until his birthday." We clasped hands and requested that God preserve Shafe's life until his birthday. He left this earthly life two days after his 89th birthday.

                Hopefully, as we mark the first year since her death, we will recall and retell the hilarious stories that she so loved. (I can hear her distinct laugh as I write this.) She would like that. Most of all, she would want each of her former students, each of her relatives, every parent that she encouraged, and each person she called “friend” to be assured that their sins have been forgiven by Jesus and are living daily in the peace that reliance on Him can bring to lives leaning on Him.

                Here final message, in her own distinctive handwriting, spoke to each of us from the folio distributed at her funeral. She gave the test preparation with the directive to “take the test.” Nelda desired for her students to succeed on every exam she gave. Her last one was no different. Here is the study sheet:

If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. Romans 10:9-10

                This passage reminds that genuine belief that Jesus is Lord (the Boss, yet never bossy) and was raised from the death of crucifixion begins at the core of our being. When we embrace Jesus as Lord of our lives, we are given His righteousness and are not ashamed to confess Him as Lord – the One in charge. If we have truly accepted Jesus as our Lord then His leadership will be reflected in our lives. How much Nelda’s life reflected this! She studied God’s Word and prayed daily, stood for right even if it was unpopular. Her compassion and generosity touched so many of our lives.

                Have you passed her final test? Its results will determine whether you ever see this dynamic woman again. Passing Mrs. Shafer's final exam will enable you to stand tall in your own deep valleys because, like her, you will have Jesus walking beside you, giving you strength and encouragement.

I've Resigned As a Glove Critic

Be Careful What You Criticize

                In my previous profession, my father would have been categorized as a “tactile, kinesthetic” learner.* He seldom cared about his clothes unless he was going to church or a social occasion. He wore rubber boots with the holes repaired with duct tape, torn overalls (until Mother got hold of them to patch them), flannel shirts with frayed necks, and gloves that looked almost as bad as the glove in the photograph below. One can easily detect the commonality with the clothing. Each item felt "broken-in" or comfortable to Dad.

 I recall exclaiming, “Dad! Angie and Ben got you leather gloves for Christmas.” Then I would holler, “Mom, where are Dad’s new gloves?”

With a silly look at me, he would say in a mocking voice, displaying the gloves in question, “Oh these are pity-foul!”

            The irony is that the glove in the photograph is one I have been using this winter! One day last week I came in and as I removed my gloves said to Mother, “These gloves look like the ones Dad wore.” Then I sheepishly murmured, “They look worse than anything he ever wore!”

            Now my glove protocol is a bit different than Dad’s was. I begin with the same brand of leather glove like Dad did. A set of two pairs of Plainsman leather gloves is always on both my Christmas and birthday list. I wear gloves year-round.

The difference comes with my self-prepared liners. I have such small hands that a soft pair of cotton gloves inside the leather pair serves as impeccably soft liners providing the perfect fit.

I remember the first time I met Dr. Marc Campbell, DVM. Fortunately, Angie was at the farm that day helping with Dad’s care. She had tied the calf’s legs together so we could load her in the back of the pickup and get her into a place where Dr. Campbell could treat her. After perfunctory introductions, he said, “Somebody did a good job tying this little heifer!” (Many of Angie’s corporate colleagues have no idea she learned to drive a standard transmission truck loaded with small bales and can successfully complete innumerable other farm-related tasks.)

Dr. Campbell directed his second comment toward me, “I like those gloves.” He proceeded to tell me of one of the first winters after he had come to Pawnee. An older couple, who had raised cattle for many years, called him to assist with the birth of a calf. They observed how cold his hands were. In appreciation for his saving the calf, they gave him his first pair of Plainsman gloves.

I glanced at the gloves that would cause my sister to say, “You got the goody out of them!” How ironic that the gloves I took off looked so much worse than the pair I criticized Dad for wearing!

              Isn’t this how shallow criticism works? We offhandedly give our opinion of how we think a person should change in an area that will have little consequence to life in ten days  - not even considering its meaninglessness in ten years. Most of the time our opinions register as insignificant, except to diminish the worth of another person created in the image of God.
            Is there a place for reproof - Biblical term for criticism? King Solomon, described as the wisest man who ever lived, wrote several verses about reproof. Here are a couple:

Don't waste your time on a scoffer; all you'll get for your pains is abuse. But if you correct those who care about life, that's different - they'll love you for it!  Proverbs 9:8 (The Message)

Moral dropouts won't listen to their elders; welcoming correction is a mark of good sense. Proverbs 15:5 (The Message)

           The scripture indicates there is a time to prayerfully give reproof and a time to accept reproof graciously. Godly reproof results in both people being enriched. The one giving the reproof knows another is being built up by the words spoken. Often the person receiving and accepting the correction will have a life-altering outcome. The key remains knowing when an issue in one's life warrants interjecting a reproof.

           Even though chiding Dad about his well-worn gloves was not mean-spirited, I realize how I have grown – hopefully – in what really matters. I can see God answering my prayer for myself and others each morning. Daily, I pray Paul’s prayer that he prayed for the believers at the church at Philippi as recorded in Philippians 1:9-11. I personalize it as I pray it for myself with my own emphasis indicated:

And I pray this: that your (my) love will keep growing in knowledge and every kind of discernment, so that you (I) can determine what really matters and can be pure and blameless in the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God. (HCSB)

*As an educator, I prescribed and tried to implement an understanding of my students’ individual learning modalities, employing that in my classroom instruction. I identified my primary learning modality as “visual” which explains why how the gloves looked spurred me to criticize. Yet, because of my cattle care, the need to utilize tools, etc., I have found myself much more like my father – leaning far more toward the “tactile, kinesthetic” modalities – learning with my muscles and touch.  It is amazing how God brings into our lives duties, challenges, and trials that develop areas of our lives that we had no inkling even existed in us and needed to be cultivated. I feel compelled to share this powerful verse for those who follow Jesus and face responsibilities wrapped in adversity:

Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us.  Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV)

Fleas and Friendship

Hez and Ermie

                During the 1930s, scores of families lived in the Big Bend. One family found their way to the location some have dubbed a “peninsula” of the Arkansas River. Hezekiah and Erma Hutchison Herring took up residence with their children in the Bend. Four children were listed in the United States Census of 1930. Wayne had been born in 1924, the same year as my mother, Bernyce Smith Gates. His brother, Jack, had been born the following year. There were two younger siblings, Wanda and Merle.

                Mother and her parents, Calvin Callcayah Smith and Gladys Rainey Smith, lived on the Oliver Morton place. To see a photograph of Oliver Morton, the owner of the land, access the blog posting entitled Miracle at the Little House at: http://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2014/07/miracles-at-little-house.html

                A new house had been built on the Morton land. A new barn was erected, too. The Herring family lived near the recently constructed barn on the Oliver Morton place. Mother and her parents relocated from the “little house” to the brand-new house. In the 1920s, not many families had the luxury of being the first to move into a new house. What excitement for my grandma who liked to add little homey touches to her home, even though it had to be done creatively on a shoestring budget!

                Mother, as a preschooler and only child, enjoyed playing with the Herring boys. Mother was the smallest of the three of them. The Herring family had a large, hairy dog with a long, bushy tail that curled up. The gentle dog allowed Wayne and Jack to ride him. Of course, the two boys invited Mother to ride, also. She hopped on the back, behind the Herring boys. The flea-infested dog swished his furry tail up during the jaunt enjoyed by the children. Mother dismounted from the dog with, what my grandma believed must have been, every flea from the Herring family dog! My mother was sternly directed to never ride that dog again. Flea control for dogs ranked quite low for families living in the Bend during the late 1920s.

My mother and the Herring Boys along with an
unidentified boy posing in front of the new barn
on the Oliver Morton Place. Photo taken in the
late 1920s.

                During this era, families subsisted, as Dad would characterize, “from hand to mouth.” Making a living required hard, manual labor. Hez Herring picked cotton, as did many Benders. One necessary accessory for this body-wearying task of harvesting cotton was a pair of knee pads. Construction workers in the 21^st century use updated versions of the knee pads. (I recall my father, Edmund Gates, Jr., being unable to find “industrial”- type knee pads. He had Mr. Bill Thieme, an older man from Fairfax who excelled in leather work, custom-make a pair for him.)

                One day the two Herring boys and their little sidekick, my mother, were busy exploring on the Morton place. The two boys yelled, “It’s a snake!” The boys spotted the snake’s head emerging from one of their father’s knee pads. Erma, the mother of Wayne and Jack, heard the commotion. She rushed out to investigate, arriving just in time to see little Bernyce leaning over the reptile and responding in a matter-of-fact voice, “It’s just an old turtle.” Wayne and Jack had misjudged the shell of the turtle for one of their father’s knee pads.

                As a young child, I remember Mr. and Mrs. Herring coming to visit my grandparents. Ermie delighted in telling the turtle story. Erma and Grandma commiserated on how hard they all worked to make a living but how much they enjoyed the friendship between the families.

                Little did I know that I would meet Erma Hutchison Herring’s namesake. Erma’s brother, Bryan Hutchison and his second family moved to the Big Bend. (His first family, with children around Mother’s age, had lived in the Bend when Mother was young.) His second family was comprised of: Lynn, Bryan, Nancy, Mattie, Betty, Johnny, Dorothy, and David.

Soon after they arrived in the Bend a baby boy, William Robert, was born, but died in 1966, drawing our families together in sorrow. Later Michael would be born to complete the Hutchison family.

Nancy Erma Hutchison's senior portrait
 at Ralston High School

Nancy Erma Hutchison, the second Hutchison daughter, was given her middle name in honor of her aunt. Nancy and her sisters often rode to church with us. My father liked to make comments about Nancy’s infectious laugh which only made her laugh harder and louder, inciting the rest of us to do the same.

 Nancy and her siblings knew my grandfather and her father had known each other "in the old country." They referred to eastern Oklahoma where they had both descended from Cherokee ancestors as "the old country." Bryan's children knew my grandparents had a relationship with their older siblings who were near my mother's age. 

The long continuity of friendship earned Grandma a place of respect. Nancy has mentioned how much of God's Word my grandma had shared with her family. Grandma made sure each family member knew only Jesus could forgive their sins and make their life worthwhile here on earth.

In our busy, harried lives, it remains important to recount memories of days long past. One of life’s blessings continues to be the lifelong friendships of people who helped create enduring remembrances. May we never allow the cares of our days and the apparent aggressive necessities of the present to rob us of holding dear to us relationships of yesteryear.

If our lives are enriched by recalling friendships of long ago, how much more must we recount the goodness of God to us. Here are some verses on recounting God's loving grace and mercy. These verses prompt us to remember the undeserved kindness of the Lord. We are reminded to reflect on His judgments – the truths of His Word. Find more promises and truths in your Bible this week, allowing God to enrich your life.

Yes, I will bless the Lord and not forget the glorious things He does for me. Psalm 103:2 (TLB)

 Remember the wonderful works He has done, His wonders, and the judgments He had pronounced.  Psalm 105:5 (HCSB)

              A Final Thought or Word of Caution - Each week when reading and studying God's word, I am reminded of truth that "cuts crossways" with my own way or will. For instance, this week when things weren't going as I wanted, and complaining words were coming from my mouth, reading Philippians 2:14 that says, "Do everything without grumbling or arguing" "cut crossways." At another time, after feeling ticked off inside, a truth I often hear Mother quote from I Corinthians 13:4 came to mind. It clearly states, "Love suffers long and is kind." In plain language, "You put up with alot and stay really nice about it." Just because His truth and "judgments He has pronounced" is in opposition to how I am conducting my life, should not cause me to stop reading His Word daily. Instead let's bring our lives into alignment with His truths. Isn't that one of the main reasons we were given the scriptures?

Tobacco, Tents, and Thieving in the Thirties

My Mother and the Tobacco Thief

                My mother’s participation in athletic activities have appeared in previous blog postings. Bernyce Smith Gates, my mother, loved to run – whether around bases, driving to the basketball goal, or in foot races.

                Many traits, tendencies, likes and dislikes of her father, Calvin Callcayah Smith, emerged in my mother. Ruben Hopper, even after reaching the century mark in age, reveled in recounting Grandpa’s baseball pitching prowess. Mother chuckled as she told of Grandpa outrunning a mean cow across the pasture. This didn't just occur once. Mother said the pernicious cow would raise her head and charge. She said Grandpa was “picking them up and putting them down" but always outrun the cow.

                Mother first ran "with a purpose" as an eight-year old. Her family had recently moved to the Betts’ place, owned by Lora Kirk Betts, an original Osage allottee, and leased by my grandparents, specifically so Mother could walk to school.

The Bend was in the throes of the Great Depression along with the rest of the nation. Families, unable to afford housing, pitched tents and lived in them. The families had helped Grandpa and Grandma with some of their farm work so had gotten permission to put their tents on the place Mother’s parents were leasing. The temporary dwellings were erected on the Betts’ land, west of the small bridge over the creek, not far from the house where Mother and her parents live.

My grandfather used tobacco. Interestingly, he was not a smoker when he served as a medic during World War I. One of the army doctors credited his non-smoking status as the reason for his survival of the Spanish flu. This was documented in the blog posting entitled The Spanish Flu Pandemic: http://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-spanish-flu-pandemic-of-1918.html

For some reason, unknown to Mother, her father began smoking. He developed a cough. His persistent cough and the knowledge that his father died from complications due to pneumonia prompted Grandpa’s switch to smokeless tobacco.

One of the older boys from the “tent people” families came up to their house. Always a keen observer and quick thinker, my mother watched him go into the pantry of their house and come out with her daddy’s tobacco stash. He was sneaking out of their home. That big boy was stealing her daddy’s tobacco. She would have none of that.

Mother - age 9

He started running. The determined eight-year-old pursued him with all her speed. She yelled, “That’s my Daddy’s! You’re stealing it.”

Whether it was her swift running, the vengeance in her voice, or his own conscience, for some reason, he dropped the stolen tobacco pouch and scampered away. The gutsy little girl retrieved the stolen tobacco, but never confronted the boy again.

Grandpa would later lose his naturally-beautiful teeth to periodontal disease early in his life. At the time, dentists could do little but extract the teeth and fit the patient for dentures. By the time I was born, however, as Grandpa would characterize it, he “had laid it down” as a matter of his spiritual awareness, so I never saw him use smokeless tobacco.

The admiration of her maternal grandmother triggered my mother’s first experience with tobacco. She observed her beloved grandma, Rosa Jarrell Rainey, dip snuff. As a little girl, she wanted to emulate everything her grandmother did. Only one try of snuff from her grandma’s little snuff can taught her that was an experience she did not want to repeat.

Virgil - age 6

Mother adored her uncle, Bill Buckley, who had married her mother’s sister, Emma Rainey Buckley. For some reason, she and her cousin, Virgil Noel Rice, stumbled onto some cigarettes discarded by their uncle, east of their Grandma Rainey’s house. She didn’t remember which one initiated the “smoking experiment” – just that they agreed. The two cousins lit up. The horrible taste caused them to cough and spit. At age 9 and age 6, she and Virgil agreed wholeheartedly that smoking was not for them. That was the end of tobacco use for them both. Mother diligently warned Angie and me about the health dangers of smoking from lung diseases, citing dearly loved family members who had shortened their lives with tobacco use. Mother valued her teeth, emphasizing proper care of them, recalling the destructiveness of the periodontal disease to Grandpa’s teeth.

Our mother’s dentist praises her 92-year-old teeth at each checkup. Angie laughs about nurses trying to get her teeth out when she was hospitalized in 2011. Mother tried to convey the teeth were attached, but, with the nurse’s fingers in her mouth, Angie had to come to her rescue, telling the nurse “the teeth don’t come out.”

Gladys Rainey Smith, my maternal grandmother, could assert succinctly her beliefs. Frequently, I have heard her quote and comment, specifically, on tobacco use in light of Romans 12:1:

I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God,

 that you present your bodies a living sacrifice,

holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.

With a humorous twinkle in her eye, she would say, “You are supposed to present yourself as a living sacrifice. Not smell like a burnt offering!”
  
Personal Note: Candy cigarettes packaged to realistically appear as the actual tobacco cigarettes gained popularity decades before our childhood. However, when  Angie and I were children those lookalikes could still be found in the candy aisle. Mother never allowed either of us to select the candy cigarettes. I think I was the one more drawn to the "play" cigarettes than Angie. Even though no adults in my family smoked, mimicking a grown-up activity appealed to me. 
            However, my earliest memories recalled asthmatic episodes. Even though the occurrences of these diminished as I approached adolescence, the remembrance of struggling to breathe caused me to refrain from trying tobacco in any form.