A Physician Like Luke...

 ...and a Vintage Newsletter

On August 8, the late Dr. Hansel L. Ratliff would have turned 93 years old. Dr. Ratliff served as our family’s doctor for most of my formative years and even into my early years of teaching. One of my last appointments with him began with these words, “Well I know if a Gates comes to see me, they are really sick.” He intended it as a compliment. Hopefully, the Gates family's self-doctoring or “just toughin’ it out” (a phrase from my father) didn’t exacerbate Dr. Ratliff’s diagnosis or his treatment choices.

Dr. Ratliff grew up in Ceres, a farming community, and received his education at Red Rock High School. He understood so many of his rural patients in his practice at Pawnee, Oklahoma. His down-to-earth, compassionate demeanor made him a favorite with so many in the area.

Mother had saved a newsletter mailed from the Pawnee Family Clinic. Unheard of today, the back page of his clinic’s newsletter looked like this:

In his obituary in March of 2015, Dr. Ratliff’s wholehearted devotion to the Lord was reiterated. He continued his commitment to Jesus after moving from Pawnee. This statement from his printed obituary encapsulated the good doctor I knew. His love for Jesus and God’s word was the foundation of his life.
The photograph appeared with his obituary. To access the complete obituary, click on this link: http://obituaries.normantranscript.com/obituary/hansel-ratliff-745051822

                As I write this posting, memories of several physicians much like Dr. Ratliff flooded my mind plus the faces of their capable nurses. Like Luke, the beloved physician to the Apostle Paul, not only treated physical ailments but desired his patients and friends knew who Jesus was. Here is what he wrote in the introduction to his gospel in Luke 1:3-4.

It seemed good to me…to write an orderly account for you…that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.

As with most blog postings I write, I research usually to be sure I am publishing correct facts. Interestingly, this week I discovered one of Dr. Ratliff’s son and his family serve as international missionaries in Thailand. Here is a link to learn a little about their ministry: https://www.zoarbaptist.org/missions/global-missions/missionary-detail/quintin-kim-ratliff/ What a legacy that bears out Dr. Ratliff’s own commitment to follow Jesus! May this spur each of us to live as God ordained us to serve Him.

Congratulations to the Staff and Board of Fairfax Community Hospital

How thankful we were for this past week's open house at our local hospital, Fairfax Community Hospital! So many times in rural areas, steps forward seem painful, slow, and few. Yet this week, thanks to determined, persevering staff, board, local support, and prayers for God to intervene on behalf of a small hospital, the community celebrated a major boon to its morale. The proverbial comparison of the Phoenix Rising from the Ashes seemed appropriate in an locale considered insignificant to many urban entrepreneurs. Yet over the past few weeks, I have had several patients express gratitude for physical therapy received at the facility. Others have received inpatient treatment resulting in less stressful healing since they were so close to home. May we continue to support and express gratitude to our local healthcare professionals.

Reposting this blog post from October 1, 2017 illustrates the importance of the Fairfax Community Hospital to our family.

My Mother Suggested This Blog Posting

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.

Grand Sir's Dilemma

This Saturday, my brother-in-law and sister repaired the fence on the east side of the meadow for which Mother and I are so  grateful. This recollection of the meadow was written six years ago in 2013, and later published in The Vision. At the time this occurred, Angie, Mother, and I were steeped in Dad’s care. He had not had his second stroke. Angie and I guarded what we said about Grand Sir since Dad wanted to be helping with anything done with the cattle. Grand Sir was sold just a few weeks before Dad's death.

Bull in the Meadow!

            What a shock and disappointment to see! There was the bull in the misty green meadow! That was one of the worst things that could happen on the farm, especially so close to haymaking.

We had been experiencing a drought for two years. Last year the hay crop from our meadow had to be stretched with close feed management during the winter. We had baled less than half of the hay we normally would. What a blow to see that 2,000-pound bull leisurely grazing in the beautifully green meadow! If he could get into the meadow, I worried that the rest of the herd could, too.

My sister arrived later in the day and agreed to help me try to get the bull out of the meadow. I told her my plan. I would try to guide him from the extreme northwest corner of the meadow to the small opening on the meadow’s southwest corner. Then I would guide him north up the lane and out the breach he had created in the fence. Angie would wait at another gate monitoring and assessing how I would most need her help.

I walked to the northwest corner of the meadow with my self-made staff in the hand. My staff was just a sturdy, long stick. As soon as I reached the bull, I began to talk to him about getting out of the meadow. When I began caring for the cattle after my father’s stroke, I began affectionately calling his large, white bull “Grand Sir.” As I guided him along the west fence line of the meadow, I reminded him when he was tempted to dawdle, “Go on, Grand Sir, go on.” I had to persist in guiding him as he slowly lumbered south along the west edge of the hay meadow. He really wanted to continue sampling the tender, young grass of the meadow, not realizing he was devouring the herd’s only fodder for the cold, winter months.

As we approached the narrow opening, I began wondering if Grand Sir would allow himself to be guided through such a constricted space into the lane. I continued cajoling him by saying things like “You’re smart. You know where to go. You know what to do.”

I could hear my sister questioning, “Will he go through there? Can he fit through there?”

Grand Sir

I continued to affirm that he could and would get through that small gap. I had been bragging on how smart and sensible he was since I began caring for my parent’s small cattle herd. Grand Sir’s greatest flaw was the same as most bulls – he was extremely determined to do what he wanted to do. It was difficult to dissuade Grand Sir when he was resolute to do something.

About that time Grand Sir, the large Charolais bull, squeezed through the narrow opening in the corner of the fence to get into the lane. Soon I was careening down the steep slope, attempting to keep up as he was barreling down the hill into the lane. 

Within just a few steps after arriving at the bottom of the slope, the bull was approaching the breach in the west fence of the lane that had started all of this. We were nearing the wire gate in the fence where he had pushed through much earlier in the day. My sister was standing north of the broken gate in the rusty barbed wire fence.

Grand Sir looked at her realizing he could not proceed that northerly direction. My sister had opened the gate where he had initially gain entry to the lane and then the meadow. He looked at the exit from the lane to which I had led him.

Finally, I walked to the breach he had created and stated, “See, Grand Sir. Here is the way to get out of here.” With that, I walked through the rusty wire gate. I began urging him to come through the gate so he could get with the rest of the herd.

Grand Sir stood hesitating for what seemed an eternity looking north at my sister and then back at the gate and beyond it to me. At long last, he slowly ambled through the rusty wire gate to rejoin the herd.

As my sister and I repaired the old wire gate to insure the security of the meadow until after the baling of it into hay, my sister commented how the bull knew exactly where we were leading him to go. He clearly understood what we wanted him to do. She said, “Even though he knew where he was supposed to go, he had to decide if he really wanted to do that.”

Aren’t people so many times like that? God makes quite clear what He desires for us specifically to do or where He wills us to go, but instead of immediately obeying, we waver, almost as if weighing the upcoming results of our decision. 

The Lord’s way is succinctly shown in Psalm 16:11 “You reveal the path of life to me; in Your presence is abundant joy; in Your right hand are eternal pleasures.”

Our heavenly Father makes known unmistakably His will and way for us, but we are much like Grand Sir. We hesitate and vacillate between our way and wishes and His will.   

God promises abundant joy and lasting pleasures in His presence after we choose to travel the road, He has shown us. What indescribable guidance! He plainly discloses His plan for our lives and then rewards us for our forthright obedience and trust of Him. Jesus told His disciples that if they loved Him they would keep His commandments. They would submit to His will.      

 Lord, give me unwavering trust in You and Your will. Use that trust as an impetus in my heart to stir up immediate obedience as You show me Your way. Guard my mind and heart against hesitation and indecision. May I recognize my submission to Your will is a direct reflection of my love for You.

The Fragrant Mimosa Blossoms

Step out the door of Mother’s farm home during early summer and an aromatic fragrance inundates one’s senses. The sweet smell of the feathery pink blossoms wafts to either the front or back door. A heavy dew or a light summer rain causes the blossoms to perfume the air even more profusely.

Close-up of Some of the Mimosa Blossoms in Mother's Front Yard

So often upon sniffing the mimosa’s blossoms’ scent that rivals the glorious fragrance of the roses planted by Grandma, I recall this verse that God inspired the Apostle Paul to write to the Ephesian Christians.

Walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma. Ephesians 5:2

Throughout the Old Testament, a sacrifice given with a heartfelt attitude of worship and obedience is described a “sweet smelling” to the God of heaven. The personal offering of Himself made Jesus’s death as a substitutionary sacrifice for our sins the only acceptable payment or ransom of salvation for humans. 

Yet not all embrace the fragrance of redemption purchased with the blood of Jesus. Paul explained this opposing view in his letter to the Corinthian church.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. I Corinthians 1:18

When Alicia Roach served as my father's last nurse for several months, caring for him until his death, she commented about the mimosa trees blooming. They reminded her of loved ones. She could hardly believe her love of the beauty and fragrance of the mimosa tree were not shared by the nursery personnel when she inquired about a mimosa tree. 

Paul warned of the attitude of the unbeliever toward cross as foolishly worthless. Alicia was appalled her love of the mimosa was not held by some trained horticulturalists. Yet those with a daily relationship with Jesus need not be surprised when scoffers and scorners categorize the sacrifice of Christ as a foolish myth for the weak and undereducated.

But our power to live and thrive traces directly to our relationship with a Savior who experienced ridicule, pain and death for us. Even the breath-taking scent of the mimosa trees in front of Mother’s home cannot compare with the life-giving aroma of freedom from the penalty of sin and the liberty to live the abundant life that God ordained for His children. May we breathe deeply of the fragrance of the sweet Holy Spirit residing within us, sensing His continual guidance and comfort, and sharing sweetness of Him with others.