The Eight-Year-Old Frozen Strawberries

My 93-Year Old Mother Made Strawberry Jam

                Recently, Mother inquired, “What is in the big freezer?” The large chest-style vintage freezer has steadily kept items frozen since it was purchased brand new in 1970. It has continually frozen food stuff for Mother except for a brief few hours last summer when one of the beloved farm cats apparently unplugged the well-used appliance. Needless to say, I spent some time standing on my head as I cleaned the mess.

                After reporting on the frozen items she had in the chest freezer, she requested I bring to her the oldest strawberries I could find. This task was relatively easy since Mother labels and dates every item put into the freezer. I located a repurposed cottage cheese carton full of strawberries that Mother had processed in 2010. Since Mother had never been one to waste, I used her as the example of the proverb, Waste Not, Want Not, in my explanation of its meaning to my third graders. She introduced me to recycling and repurposing.

                This week she turned the oldest frozen berries into strawberry jam. I returned from feeding the cattle to find her strawberry mixture bubbling on the stove in an old kettle. The sweet savor of the cooking berries reached my nose upon coming in the back door.

Mother's recently labeled jar of
 strawberry preserves.

                As Mother filled the two jars, I asked her if she planned to sample the jam with her toast the next morning. The usual plan, over the years, had always been label what one is canning, preserving, or freezing. The jars or bags were then stockpiled in the appropriate places until the need for this stored food would occur. The family never opened or tasted the preserved delectables until a much later time. 

The Partial Jar of Strawberry Preserves

                She smiled and laughingly answered, as she pointed to the half-filled pint glass jar, “I plan to open this partial jar at breakfast tomorrow.” I expressed my surprise and delight that she would be spreading her strawberry jam on her toast so soon. Then I told her, “I think I’ll try it, too.”

                We both enjoyed thoroughly the toast lightly spread with the delicious homemade strawberry jam made from 8-year-old frozen strawberries. I couldn’t help but think about Dad as I spread the jam thinly over my piece of toast. He would have liberally slathered his toast with the fragrant strawberry jam, as he said to Mother, “Now, Honey, you’ve got you something there!”

Thinly spread strawberry preserves on toast. 
Mother thinks breakfast is an important meal.
Each morning she serves a hearty bowl of oatmeal 
with banana slices and a golden toasted piece of 
whole wheat bread with a cup of coffee to drink leisurely.

                 Sometimes, with a smile, I look at Mother and say, “It doesn’t take much to make us happy.”
The verse in Proverbs 17:1 came to mind:
A dry crust of bread eaten in peace and quiet is better than a feast eaten where everyone argues.


Afterthought - Mother mentioned how much canning, preserving, and freezing she has done over her life. She recalled 56 years ago, when she, Dad, and her parents moved to the farm she and Dad had purchased 3 years earlier. With the help of relatives, they had hastily built Mother's present house. So much needed to be done - the barn built, cattle lots built, two chicken houses constructed, as well as a brooder house for baby chicks. Landscaping, fencing, and numerous other tasks were needed to be completed. Dad took off one year from carpentering to work with my maternal grandparents to get things the way they wanted them.
As we savored our toast with the strawberry preserves, she remembered one day that first year, "Angie was a baby. You were only five. I was so tired I could hardly stand up, but I knew how hard Mom, Daddy, and Edmund were working outside. I had to get the canning done."
Mother was in her late thirties, canning in a kitchen, with no air conditioning, and doing it all herself. She remarkably waited over a half-century to voice her weariness that day.

The last Saturday of January found Mother preparing
a pork roast that I had nagged her about getting
out of the freezer because I was sure it was past being
good. But as always, my 93-year-old mother, knew
it would be good and it was. Plus, we will have many
more tasty meals from her culinary achievement with
the pork roast. I thank the Lord every day for Mother.

The Morning I Left My Winter Overalls at the House

A year ago today we remembered and honored the life of my uncle, James Franklin Gates. As I concluded this post with lines from "Trust and Obey," I recalled the comfort and strength we drew from singing this much-loved hymn during his funeral service.

Jim Gates and Sheriff George Wayman sharing a
laugh at the Burbank High School Reunion - 2001

When My Heavy Overalls Reminded Me of the Shield of Faith

                The morning temperature was 3^o F, with a -11^o F wind chill reading. Of course, as I looked at that, I remembered my father’s take on wind chill. He retorted once, “Why there’s nothing to that. It’s not that cold out there.”

                I placed the feed out for the cats and since I had a busy morning ahead of me, I headed to check the water at the stock tank. I had walked about halfway to the tank where the cattle watered and realized, Oh my goodness! I hurried out of the house so quickly that I did not pull on my overalls. Thankfully, I had on my stocking cap and hoodie with my coat’s hood fastened, too. I had double layers on my legs, but I still missed my heavy overalls – a cold weather necessity for me.

                On my return jaunt to the house, I began musing about the armor of God. I ticked off in my mind – the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, the belt of truth, the footwear of the gospel of peace, the sword of the Spirit (the Word of God), and finally, the shield of faith. Then I recalled teaching children about how the Apostle Paul, in Ephesians 6, compared believers in Christ to the Roman soldier of his day.

                Thoughts ran through my mind about how the helmet of salvation symbilizes how His forgiveness of our wrongs produces the desire and power to live for Him because we have been given a new way of thinking – the mind of Christ.  Then I moved, in my thoughts, to the breastplate of righteousness and its purpose to protect our hearts from trusting in our emotions or reacting on the way we feel instead of relying wholeheartedly on His promises. I knew the belt of truth should always encircle us with God’s viewpoint on issues. Internalizing His truth provides a readiness to articulate what we believe with gentleness and respect (I Peter 3:16-17). The footwear of the gospel of peace rounded out my thoughts. We can stand strong in the gospel – Jesus died for our sins, was buried, and rose again. Only embracing the gospel of Christ will bring peace to our world and enable individuals to posture an unwavering stance no matter what occurs. These protective pieces allow the Christian soldier to effectively use the sword of the Spirit or the Word of God.

                Without my winter overalls, I felt the cold more keenly as I neared the house. I remembered decades ago of researching and then teaching the children that the Roman shield could be held overhead, positioned in front of the soldier, or placed side-by-side with other fighters’ shields. Those maneuvers warded off the enemy’s attacks. In the same way, the shield of faith protects against the fiery darts of Satan.

                 God’s Word is to be read and heeded. We should not view our salvation as just a little more than a fire insurance policy—without faith to influence the way we react, the truth we declare, and the speech we express in our daily living. The Bible says, “Without faith, it is impossible to please Him.” (Hebrews 11:6 ).

                If we truly have faith, we will trust AND obey. That is what faith is. James said in James 2:18, “I’ll show you my faith by putting it into practice in faithful action.” Either we believe what the Bible says and obey it or we don’t.

                My endurance on the cold morning was compromised by me not pulling on my overalls before heading out in the frigid temperatures. In the same manner, when we hear God’s Word but ignore or postpone obeying it, so our effectiveness is limited at best. Instead let us follow these poetic lines -                                         
                                                       What He says we will do,

Where He sends we will go; 

Never fear, only Trust and Obey.

The Denim Dilemma

My Mother’s Denim Dilemma

My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, remains dear friends with many people, most of whom are much younger than her 93 years. Yet she has found herself in a conflicting conundrum.

Recently, she engaged in a conversation with her great-niece, Joni Gates Murphy, about Mother’s conflicting conundrum over denim. Mother loves her nieces, great nieces, and her great-great nieces and her younger trendy relatives, but she doesn’t understand purchasing denim jeans with rips and tears - not from a thrift shop but from an upscale retailer! Joni confessed to owning jeans like this but adamantly told Mother that she knew her father, Steven Glenn Gates would despise these new-fangled jeans and wholeheartedly agree with his aunt. 

Mother fishing on top of Grand Mesa in
August of 1954. Ronnie Rice and my
grandpa, Calvin Callcayah Smith are
 fishing in the background. Ronnie's
family, my parents, and grandparents
were vacationing together in Colorado.
This is one of the few photos of Mother
 in jeans. She only wears jeans when
fishing and working outside. She
mentioned to me that she never
liked the feel of denim fabric.

As she and Joni visited, Mother explained when she was a child in the 1930s, most men and their wives had no choice. My maternal grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith, related that everyone on the streets of Fairfax had patches during the Great Depression. This meant the residents of Osage County had tears in their clothes but no skin exposed. Most men in the Big Bend in that era wore overalls, but no respectable wife would allow her man to appear in public with torn places in his overalls.

My dad, Edmund Gates, Jr., told how his mother, Mamie Tripp Gates, faithfully patched her boys’ overalls. At one time, Grandma Gates had five boys plus Grandpa Gates to keep their overalls free of holes. Dad bragged on his beloved mother’s resourcefulness with denim. He recalled how, when the overalls were beyond her patching recovery, Grandma cut the overtly-patched overalls apart and made makeshift coverings for her boys’ beds in the unheated bunk house where they slept each night. My mother has laughed that some overalls had so many layers of patches sewn onto them that the weight of the pair of overalls almost prevented the movement of the wearer!

Most of my father’s overalls, except his brand-new pair, had been patched by my mother. As products of the Great Depression, my parents saw eye-to-eye on patching holes in Dad’s overalls. Mother insisted the patched overalls only be used for work. She pulled out his brand-new pair to wear to town. When Dad went to town, even if to buy feed, Mother felt his appearance reflected on the type of wife she was - especially if Dad was going to the bank to see Bob (his banker and friend, Bob Clark). Dad delighted in teasing her that those patched overalls would ensure Bob approving the money he needed to borrow.

In early years, with my college degree and career in education, I assured Mother that I did not need to know how to patch denim. She never questioned me. Boy, did my words fly back, with force, into my face! Upon Dad’s death, I inherited some of his overalls. Somehow, barbed wire tore a very small hole in the leg of the pair of overalls. The winter weather worsened. Even with long thermal underwear, I zipped back into the house, telling Mother how the frigid cold came through that small hole with a vengeance.

I requested she walk me through how to patch that hole in the overalls. Sewing my own clothes used to be the norm for me in high school and even college. During my financially-lean early days of teaching, one gift for my sister was a faux fur coat constructed by me, but I was much more pleased with that small hole’s patch than any other sewing product I had ever produced. That tiny patch made a great difference in my comfort when I was out in the bitter cold and windy weather.

My first patch - This patch would win no prizes,
but it sure keeps out the cold! This is one more
example of doing something I thought I would
 never need to know how to do. I think I have
 finally learned NOT to proclaim what I won't do.

Reflecting on Mother’s denim dilemma reminds me the emphasis should never be on the outward appearance. The operative word emphasis insists the importance remains the inner person, but never to the point that we disregard our outward appearance. Our clothes, hair, or accessories should not be neglected -just not our primary or major goal. Instead obey Peter’s instruction in his first letter, in chapter 3, verse 3 –

Be beautiful inside, in your hearts,
With the lasting charm
Of a gentle and quiet spirit
That is so precious to God.

Learning from a Tiny Black Hose

Whenever I fill a stock tank, I can hear the soft, gentle voice of Joan Higgins saying, "Oh those cattle like that fresh water!" Her voice of experience and her example of faithful, diligent care of her cattle provides a living, breathing encouragement to me. I have told her that I can be assured she is one person who understands the challenges of cattle tending. 

Joan Higgins at the 120th
Anniversary for Ralston Baptist
Church

Clogged and Frozen

                Over many years, planning became an essential in my life. Whether I taught third graders or a girls Sunday School class or assisted in the care for my father following his stroke – a constant thread in those diverse scenarios of my life remained a semblance of planning in all I did. However, during Dad’s care, I learned the truth of the frequently-used adaptation from Robert Burns’ poetry, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Many interpret it, No matter how much you plan, if it can go wrong, it will go wrong.

                Nevertheless, I still plan. Knowing that frigidly cold weather was approaching, I purchased a replacement de-icer for the stock tank. I secured it in place. Setting a kitchen timer, I began filling the stock tank with water. Before dark, it was “lip” full.

                The morning following the bitterly cold night, after feeding the cats, I walked to the stock tank. To my chagrin, the tank was near empty and the frost-free hydrant would not turn on. I audibly asked God to help me to know what to do. In an effort to accurately portray the account, I did not request with a calm voice of faith but with words tense with desperation,

I had learned by experience, with an explanation from Bob and Joe Hightower during the winter of 2012/2013, to securely press the handle of the hydrant completely down. I was certain I had done that.

                As I returned to the house, I could hear Dad’s statement, “In cold weather, water is more important than hay.” The cattle had hay but very little water. I continued to ask God for wisdom.

                I grabbed a small hair dryer and returned to the stock tank and its frozen hydrant. Unplugging the de-icer, I plugged in the hair dryer and began trying to thaw. Somehow it seemed some thawing was taking place.

                Earlier as I walked, I remembered my brother-in-law instructing me to shake all water out of the small hose that Dad had attached to the spout of the hydrant. It crossed my mind that maybe I hadn’t shaken out all the water. I usually followed meticulously my brother-in-law’s instruction, but there was always room for a mistake or overlooking an important facet.

           

     I aimed the hair dryer onto the small black portion of hose. Soon frozen, cylindrical pieces of ice retaining the shape of the tiny hose shot out into the tank. I switched off the hair dryer and lifted the lever handle of the hydrant. A glorious stream of water began flowing out of the tiny black hose and the refilling  of the livestock tank commenced.

                I walked back to the house to inform Mother, who had her prayers for a working hydrant answered, that the tank was successfully being filled. I thought of how the little black hose represents our lives as believers. We are merely a conduit, just a channel, for God’s power to flow through. The 36-inch small black hose would be worthless unless connected to the water source. In the same way, unless our lives are vitally connected first with Jesus through our faith in what He did for us on the cross, we are as useless as that piece of hose apart from the hydrant.

                As I approached the gate, I thought how often we, as believers, are allied with Jesus through our trust in Him alone to forgive our sins and empower us to live successfully. Yet just like the little black hose, our lives get frozen. John 7:38 records the declaration of Jesus, The one who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, will have rivers of living water flowing from his heart. The powerful flow of Jesus, who was described as the water of life, is blocked by our choices fueled by disobedience.

Retaining bitterness instead of offering forgiveness stops His working through us. Holding onto wrongs done to us freezes His effective flow in our lives. Only the warmth of His love pervading our hurts reestablishes His use of us just as the heat from the hair dryer thawed the frozen water inside the little black hose making it usable again.

Behavior and habits can inhibit His impact through our daily lives. When the Holy Spirit within us makes us aware of His desire to rid us of these, our resistance results in ineffective, or even negative, influence on those we love most.

Many illustrations from the Christian walk can apply as one thinks about the blocked little black hose that normally fills the livestock tank. One final, but perhaps the most prolific example of blockage or gridlock in our lives may be allowing the insignificant and unnecessary to become the driving force in our lives. How quickly these inconsequential demands on our time rob us of the vital moments in Bible reading, prayer, and a needful reconnection with the Lord each day!

The little black section of hose can be an effective teacher as we recall its needfulness to effectively fill the stock tank. We also recall how its frozen state rendered it unusable. May those of us who are called by the name of Christ choose to align our lives so His love and power flow from His heart through us to those we encounter during the year of 2018.