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.

The 90th Year of the Belford Bridge

As I completed this blog posting, I thought of how my life intersected so frequently with relatives. Before retiring from Woodland Elementary School, I taught Leo Rainey's great grandson, Ethan and his great granddaughter, Kelsie. To view a photograph of them with their mother, Dawn Anson and my father, go to:

 https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2016/11/honoring-veterans-at-woodland.html

Bernyce Smith Gates, my mother, celebrated her 93^rd birthday last week. A few photographs captured and documented one of her early memories. She and the Belford Bridge spanning the Arkansas River share this storied time.

A new bridge to connect Osage County on the west bank of the Arkansas River with the east bank situated in Pawnee County needed to be constructed following the flood of 1923. My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., remembered “The Big Flood.” It took out many bridges on the Arkansas River in this locale, including the ones in Kaw City, Ponca City, Belford, Ralston, and Blackburn.

Since Dad was four years old when the flood occurred, he recalled vividly when the Belford Bridge went out because he was fascinated by the ferry providing a way across the river.  Dick Wright and his boy, Clyde, ran the ferry boat.  Two little black mules pulled the ferry off the sand bar, then got on the ferry and the ferry was pulled across by a motor. Mr. Wright used the command “Pete Pete” to get the mules to pull the ferry onto or off the sand bar. The little ferry operated until the new bridge’s construction reached completion in 1927. Dad had thrilled at the adventure of three years of riding Dick Wright’s ferry every time he went with his family to Ralston.

In the photographs, only the bridge was younger than my mother. She recalled the cool day of their outing. Mother, along with her parents, rode with her uncle and aunt and her two cousins to survey the work done on the new bridge. 

Leo Rainey, Calvin Callcayah Smith holding Bernyce Smith, Johnie Rainey,
Lewis Rainey

         Mother, at around two years old, found herself in the company of her older cousins, Leo Lewis Rainey, age 9, and Johnie Rainey, age 7. The boys were sons of Lewis Ebert Rainey and Pearl Bierman Rainey. Lewis was the older brother of Gladys Rainey Smith, my maternal grandmother.

Mother’s family traveled a couple of miles from their home near where Cassie Fesler and her family lives now to get to Uncle Lewis and Aunt Pearl’s home. The seven of them wended along the dirt trails, the type of roads of the Bend in the late 1920s, until they reached the new bridge construction site.

Calvin Callcayah Smith, my maternal grandfather, and Uncle Lewis engaged in lively discussion about having cutting edge construction in their community. As they viewed the enormous piers, the two men admired the way the Green Beckman Company had merged various type trusses for this innovative 20^th century civil engineering feat.

My grandmother and Aunt Pearl most likely did not enjoy the jaunt as much as their men. In Grandma’s childhood, a family visited her family. An ornery daughter of the Rainey family’s guests who was older and bigger held Grandma underwater and sat on her. The experience traumatized Grandma. She retained a fear of water from that day forward. She and Aunt Pearl would have worried with their children being over the mighty Arkansas River. They surely mentioned to each other how easily one of those boys or little Bernyce might slip through the banisters plunging into the murky water below.

Gladys Rainey Smith, Bernyce Smith, my mother, Leo Rainey, Pearl Bierman
Rainey, and Johnie Rainey.

           As my father would say, I studied the photographs. Looking at the images of my grandparents, I became aware of their youthfulness for the first time. Grandpa and Uncle Lewis were aged 32, and Grandma was only 26 years of age, with Aunt Pearl merely one year older. They were young couples rearing their little families, rejoicing in the newest technology – the techniques, skills, methods, and processes used in the accomplishment of objectives. Sometimes we boast secretly in all the advancements of our 21st century, not realizing our ancestors felt the same way about being on the cutting edge of progress in their day. Eerily, those who follow us in the 22nd century will scorn the primitive, archaic nature of our lives.

About five years after these photos were taken, my grandparents embraced Ecclesiastes 12:1 when as The Message states:

Honor and enjoy your Creator while you’re still young,

Before the years take their toll and your vigor wanes,

Before your vision dims and the world blurs

And the winter years keep you close to the fire.

They chose a new direction for their lives. Their choice to commit their lives to Jesus affected their desires. They began worshipping each week with others. Both daily read their Bibles. Their language changed. Some of their activities ceased. Their new lifestyle impacted Mother, who in turned influenced Dad, with Angie and me being recipients of a life honoring worship, work, and honesty.

Lord, give us eyes to see, a mind to understand, and a heart willing to honor You. May we find joy in You as our Creator, Sustainer, and Savior of our souls. 

Unsupervised Kids in the 1930s

This posting may prompt some lively discussion and storytelling of unsupervised kids other than my mother, Bernyce Smith Gates. Remember those family stories are invaluable treasures. Be sure and share them often. Incidentally, Happy Birthday, Mother!

My Mother On Her Own As A Child

                My grandparents worked side by side in the field and in every aspect of farm work to get by during the Great Depression. Sometimes my mother stayed with her grandma, Rosa Rainey, and her aunt, Alice Rainey. Yet many times she was left unsupervised at the house. Her family lived on the Betts’ place now owned by descendants of Marilyn Betts Mills and Eloise Betts Mitchell (Most of my life, Wayne and Eloise Mitchell lived there.).

                Many days Mother explored outside. She loved to run. One day during her adventures, she encountered what she identified in her young mind as a mountain boomer. The reptile remained motionless, except moving its head to see Mother. She froze still as a statue. Her grandpa, Bill Rainey, had told her a mountain boomer would chase her. (The mountain boomer is the collared lizard, Oklahoma’s state reptile.) Mother didn’t move a muscle, but yelled and screamed until her parents ran from the field where they were planting corn. She had misidentified the creature. It was a horned lizard or as her daddy said, a horny toad.

                One day she spotted a rabbit. As it darted away, Mother thought she had stumbled onto a racing challenge. She began running like the wind. No one had told her otherwise, so she outran the rabbit, caught it, and immediately let it go.

Gladys Rainey Smith, my grandma, and
Bernyce Smith, my mother, at the age
when trying to learn to iron with the
sadiron. 

                Unfortunately, her lack of supervision led to more serious ramifications. She knew Grandma’s trunk was off-limits. But in her active mind, she thought This is my chance. There’s no one to stop me. She opened the trunks's lid and found a beautiful ring with a large reddish stone in it. She wanted to hold that jewel in her little hand.

                She began prying the prongs away from the scarlet gem. With each movement of her fingers, her young heart beat, “You shouldn’t be doing this.” Yet she continued in her naughtiness.

                Triumphantly, she finally released the precious stone from its setting. Before her parents returned from their outside work, the worst possible thing happened. Mother lost the beautiful jewel!

                The scripture, Be sure your sin will find you out, played out that day in the Big Bend. Grandma realized her young daughter had been in the keepsake trunk. The empty ring setting belied how my mother had been utilizing her time.

                Mother was horrified to learn that it was the wedding ring with a substantial ruby that Grandpa had given Grandma. As Mother recounted that day, she expressed surprise that Grandma’s reaction was minimal – no spanking, no other form of discipline. She thought Grandma knew she should have never left her at the house alone. As she told me the story, I responded, “If I had done that to your wedding ring, I wouldn’t be here right now!”

                Mother had aged a bit. She was always a good worker. Looking around the house, she glimpsed ironing that needed to be done. She thought This is a way I can help Mama.

                In those days, ironing wasn’t a matter of simply plugging in an electric iron. They used a sadiron. Its name derived from an Old English word sald which meant “solid.” It was heated on a stove and then grasped with a padded holder for the ironing to begin.

A sadiron that is now repurposed as a doorstop in
Mother's home. (Mother recalled watching little
Betty Jo Woods ironing furiously with a gasoline-
powered iron, which was malfunctioning with
flames shooting out the back of the iron. That didn't
stop Betty Jo. She had been told to iron, so she
was ironing no matter what the iron was doing.
Kids were tough in the Bend in the 1930s!)

                Mother successfully heated the sadiron and lifted it with the pad to press wrinkles from one of Grandma’s dresses. Alas, since the sadiron had no heat regulator, Mother’s inexperience caused her to pucker the fabric on Grandma’s dress. As Mother described it, “Her dress was history.” Again, Grandma didn’t make a big fuss. Evidently, she looked at the intent of Mother’s heart in trying to help. I jokingly told Mother I am not sure she would have reacted with such understanding if Angie or I had ruined her dress!

                Grandma “working outside the home” wasn’t all negative. As I have written in other posts, Mother began honing her culinary skills at age seven. She acquired an independence that didn't rely on people to entertain her, bring her happiness, or contentment.

                As I  recalled this time in Mother’s young life, I took several inspirations from it:

• Forgive and understand as Grandma did with my mother, remembering people are always valued above stuff.
• God always warns us within when we are making poor choices, just as He did with Mother 85 years ago.
• We may experience solitary times to develop or acquire skills to enrich our lives, as well as the lives of others.

  

  Betty Jo Woods and my mother

  Here are two links to additional blog postings about Betty Jo's Family -
• https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/06/one-of-most-unused-sources-of-power.html
• https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2016/07/softball-singing-and-skin-tests.html

He's a Good Bull, But...

This account occurred a few months ago. Mother appreciated greatly when our neighbor, Joe Day, did what I couldn't do. He got Caramel back in Mother's pasture. Mother quipped after Joe's call to say Caramel was back, "I imagine Joe wasn't as easy with that bull as you were, but I'm glad he got him back where he belongs!"

CARAMEL AND THE NARROW OPENING

         Caramel received his name because of his rich, warm color. Even though he is a four-year-old bull, his gentleness has only deepened, but he remains determined.

Caramel with his youngest offspring, a cute little
heifer calf.

         To my consternation, I found him standing stock-still, in the corner of our neighbor's pasture, as close as possible to our pasture where he belonged.

         He had adrenalin pumping as he had torn through the fence the night before. I discovered where he had breached the fence.  I slowly walked behind him, at a distance so he felt in charge. Four times we approached the spot in the fence where he had accessed the forbidden pasture of our neighbor. Caramel considered and even stuck his head through the opening, but each time he withdrew, choosing to remain where he did not belong.

         Many people are like Caramel. They wander uneasy in unfamiliar territory. They approach the narrow way, as Jesus described it. Just as Caramel had only one way to get to where he had been born and lived all of his short bull life, in the same manner, Jesus explained He was the only way to eternal life, inner peace, and lasting contentment.

         As Caramel rejected the only way to truly fulfill his purpose, so many people refuse to acknowledge that Jesus is the only way to forgiveness and a meaningful life.

        Finally, to get to the pasture where Caramel belonged, he had to bend down to get through the narrow opening. Humbling oneself is necessary to initiate a relationship with Jesus, the Lord and Savior of willing hearts.

Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.   Matthew 7:13-14 (NKJV)

Jesus said, “I tell you for certain that I am the gate ...” John 10:7 (CEV)

My Mother Suggested This Blog Posting

While Mother and I visited this week during her hospitalization, she suggested I post on this topic as a way of saying "Thank You" to those who served her and our family this week.

My mother strives to follow the advice to remain healthy by staying out of the hospital. My brother-in-law makes house calls for her, provides medicine from his little black backpack for her ailments, and takes a call concerning her health any hour of the day, seven days a week.

Mother, Angie, my sister, and Ben,
Mother's favorite ARNP

Ben’s medical protocol for Mother had cleared the infection diagnosed the previous week. Ben  recommended politely additional testing. Mother’s illness worsened, requiring Ben to insist graciously that she needed a blood test that he would order at our local hospital. Sure enough, the test revealed an issue.

 This week, her condition described as “critically low sodium” by her “personal APRN” required hospitalization. Our family conducted a family conference call with Angie, Mother, and I in the Bend while Ben was driving between clinics. We all realized that small, rural hospitals cannot provide some of the complex procedures available in the 21^st century. Yet with Mother simply needing sodium intravenously, we collectively decided Fairfax Community Hospital would be the best fit all around, enabling me to be “a hop, skip, and a jump” from the farm, making it possible to do daily chores there. My brother-in-law arranged for her admission to Fairfax Community Hospital.

 During Mother’s 24-hour stay, she stated frequently what good care she received. So many of her care providers had known Mother for many years. To most, she was not a patient in room …, but Bernyce, someone who, with Dad, had furnished rides to church, someone whose house always felt “homey” to employees who had visited her home in their younger days, and almost every nurse or PA, who had never met her before this week, expressed admiration for how sharp and gracious she was.

 I smiled to myself as she complemented each meal served to her. How ironic that a woman known for her superb cooking would be praising and enjoying hospital food, often the topic of jokes! Dad liked her food so much he seldom wanted to eat out, yet Mother savored her meals at Fairfax Community Hospital this week.

Small, rural hospitals cannot meet all healthcare needs. But during this past week, a small, hometown hospital, the Fairfax facility was the best place for our family.