It Was a Good Day to be a Cowboy

                I realize I am alienating over half of the readers of this weekly posting. Until the last minutes of Basketball Bedlam play at Gallagher-Iba Arena, I would have never dreamed of writing about an Oklahoma State Bedlam win, but a three-point shot inspired me.

                46 years ago, attending OSU ranked high on my goals. Even though, some had indicated my introverted tendencies rendered that desire nil. In a brief, but quiet exchange with Ron Badley, our high school superintendent, for some reason I mentioned my future success at Oklahoma State had been questioned. Mr. Badley expressed confidence in my  capability. His encouragement fueled my pursuance of acceptance at OSU.

                Thankfully, I received a grant for my tuition, contingent on my maintaining a high grade point average. At that point, Glen Hadlock entered my life. Cattle prices were at a low in 1974 (around 35¢/lb. for steers). Mother said, “You can borrow money cheaper as a student than we can.”

    I met with Glen at Fairfax First State Bank and found him eager to loan additional money for my university room and board at Stillwater. He repeatedly asked me if the $1,000 loan would be enough for my freshman year of studies. I affirmed it would cover my needs. We repeated these annual appointments for the next three consecutive years. A few years ago, after learning of my frugality those four years at OSU, he told me, “I knew you were NOT borrowing enough!”

                In 1979, I met his wife, Marilyn, when we taught together at Crowder Elementary School in Fairfax. We shared some wonderful years together even though we were on opposite ends of the building since she taught sixth grade and I instructed third graders and taught primary music. During those years, I found time to sit briefly in our teachers’ lounge and visit many times with Marilyn.

                Now back to the 2/22/2020 edition of Bedlam basketball – Mother and I listened to Cowboy basketball on radio since we have antenna TV and not cable. I listened until half-time and decided I’d better get pellets out for the cattle and check the herd. The weather was so nice I had to do some tasks before the rain. As I drove back from the pasture, I flipped on Dave Hunziker and John Holcomb as they called the game. I pleasantly discovered the Cowboys had built up a 10-point lead.

                I forced myself to complete the outdoor chores and pre-rain tasks. Finally, I finished and zipped into the house and immediately inquired, “Is OSU still leading?” My 95-year-old mother responded joyfully, “They have a big lead!”

I sat down to take in the final minutes. What unbounded joy to hear J. K. Hadlock, the grandson of Glen and Marilyn Hadlock, entered the game! I whooped when J. K. let go a three-point shot and it fell for the final three points as I  yelled exuberantly, “That was J.K.!”

J. K., a member of the Osage Nation who grew up in rural Osage County, tried out during a time when Coach Mike Boynton extended a plea to the student body for quality basketball players. J.K. was selected and earned a spot on the team. 

Hopefully, most readers have a special place in their hearts for Osage County residents. This posting is not about a bedlam basketball win, but a local young man who has done well and made Fairfax, Osage County, Marilyn and Glen Hadlock and all his family proud. Congratulations, J.K.! 

When I taught at Woodland Elementary School, we had one
fundraiser each year - a basketball festival that allowed every
WES student to participate if he or she wanted to play. Parents
and family members willingly paid an entry fee and bought their
meals and snacks at the teacher-operated concession stand. This
was one of the fourth grade teams in 2007 whose photograph
was published in the Cougar 2007, the school yearbook that year.
On the front row- Nolan Bratton, Rowdy Heath, Austin
Holloway, and Zane Vandaveer. On the back row - Joshua
 Ridgway, J. K. Hadlock and Payton Terry. 

A Gentle Woman with Unwavering Faith

     At Mrs. Chaffin's celebration of life service, the word "gentle" was used to describe Mrs. Chaffin and her family. As this posting will reveal, she was gentle, but in no way weak. 

      In the early 1970s, I met Bill Chaffin when he came as a supply preacher at our church in Ralston. He married our church's song leader, Patricia Morris, a life-long friend. Patricia’s first home had been on the same farm where my mother and I live in the Big Bend community.*

Patricia Morris and Bill Chaffin's Wedding
Reception at the Ralston Baptist Church
(from Gates Family Photograph Collection)

        Even though I met the whole Chaffin family during Bill and Patricia’s wedding, I became much better acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Chaffin and their two younger children, Jan and John, in the fall of 1974. We worshiped in the same church in Stillwater when I attended Oklahoma State University.

       Jan, a senior in elementary education, and I, a lowly freshman, became good friends. She provided me much appreciated rides to church, especially following Bible study and choir practice on Wednesday nights. We had some wonderful times that year with Jan and Jeanne Buckmaster. (Jan C. and Jan B. later became sisters-in-law. Jeanne and I were roommates in our sophomore years.) 

Jan with her husband, Ron, from their 2019
Christmas Card. Jan lived one year in Ralston
when she taught first grade during the 1975-1976
school term. 

       Mr. and Mrs. Chaffin agreed graciously with Jan’s invitation to provide lodging for me for a whole week in the summer of 1975, while I attended a music educator’s workshop on campus. The four of them, including John, their youngest son, welcomed me and showed me kindness-infused hospitality for the whole week.
       Jan's first teaching position was in the first grade at Ralston during the 1975-1976 school term. Upon Jan’s graduation and move to Ralston, her mother, Maxine Chaffin, and I became much closer. 

       During my sophomore through senior years at Oklahoma State, some of my favorite times were the prayers times that culminated Wednesday nights at Hillcrest Baptist Church. We had “three-cornered” prayer time at the end of each midweek Bible study. This was one of the few times during the week when I interacted with people out of my age group. Mrs. Chaffin often was one of my two prayer partners. She always attentively listened to my collegiate difficulties whether academic, relationship, or financially related. Mrs. Chaffin, with godly wisdom, prayed fervently for our other partner and me, refocusing us with a reminder of God’s sovereign will, love, and grace and its overwhelming impact on each concern. 

Maxine Chaffin - born August 1, 1922
Died February 6, 2020
published @
https://obituaries.stwnewspress.com

       Mrs. Chaffin and her husband lived out Paul’s testimonial phrases from Philippians 4:12-13 - I know how  to be abased, and I know how to abound….I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. These were brilliant, talented people who leaned into difficulties that arose in their lives. The only way this precious couple touched people’s lives for the furtherance of God’s kingdom work emanated directly from them living in the strength of the indwelling Christ. Those of us influenced by the gracious, quiet living of Frank and Maxine Chaffin viewed a couple at times in their lives hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; (taken from 2 Corinthians 4:8)

      As I reflected on the impact of Mrs. Chaffin’s life this week upon learning of her passing, Mrs. Chaffin’s unselfish, self-sacrificing love for her husband and children moved to the forefront of my mind. Her unwavering commitment to worship her Savior daily with her time with Him in His word compelled her to quiet, but faithful service to Him out of her profuse love for a merciful God full of loving-kindness.

      Those of us affected powerfully by the life led by Mrs. Chaffin can continue her mission work here on earth. Holding to an uncompromising devotion to God’s Word, propelled by our steadfast love of the Lord, may our heartfelt obedience, disregarding the cost, be our only goal, just as it was hers.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:17-18

*Other Links to Morris Family-Related Postings:

https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/11/when-cotton-was-king.html - about Patricia's father

https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2017/08/only-two-names-will-do.html - about my mother's relationship with Patricia's only brother

https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-spokes-must-be-connected-to.html - tribute following Patricia's brother's death

https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2019/03/armed-robbery-in-big-bend.html - Patricia's paternal great-grandpa's robbery in the Bend

Memories and Snow

          My grandparents ordered special commentaries frequently to augment their preparation for teaching their adult Sunday School classes at Masham Baptist Church. Grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith, vigilantly insured those she loved knew about the Lord. She prayed for each family member and neighbor to enter a relationship with Him.

          Knowing I loved stories, my maternal grandma ordered weekly “take-home” papers to read to me. Our little church did not give out this specific type of extensional reading for children.

          When I was around four or five, one winter week, the take-home paper contained an article about snow. I did not like any genre other than fiction or Bible stories read to me.*  Yet this article about the beauty of a snowfall blanketing a landscape captured interest because of my love of snow as a preschooler.

Marred Snow from last week

          The writer mentioned how muddy footprints by animals or humans irrevocably scar the beauty of the snow-packed scene. Immediately, the children’s author shifted to discussing sin. I heard that word read from the Bible and sang it in songs I easily memorized, but it was meaningless to me. The little article pointed out how sin mars our lives much like lovely, snowy scenery is blemished.

       It would be several years before I sensed the Holy Spirit urging me to respond to the gift of God, seeking forgiveness for my sins. Yet that little nonfiction piece in a children’s weekly take-home paper made me aware that those unkind actions marred my own life just as the newly-fallen snow was flawed inevitably. I gained a small understanding of what it means to be a sinner.

Sometimes the excuse is given, "It is only a little
sin." The Bible says, "All have  sinned and fallen
short of the glory of God."

         Over the years, as I have looked at the fresh snow on a lawn and as I have walked through the pastures, this memory of the lesson about sin from snow vividly returns to my mind. How important it is for each human to recognize we are dead in our sins and need a Savior!

But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved).

Ephesians 2:4-5

This photo taken of snow reminded me of this from David's
psalm of repentance - Psalm 51:7  Purge me with hyssop,  
and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter 
than snow.
Note: Hyssop - an herb of the mint family; used for cleaning and as a medicine
 in ancient Israel.

* (Mother tried to read poetry to me as a preschooler. If I got to choose, poetry, like Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, received a “thumbs down” from me. Grandma loved nonfiction – books about tornadoes, dinosaurs, etc. – another “thumbs down” from me.)

It's Not About You

                On the last Sunday of November, I thanked Ben Brock for displaying the scripture graphics on the visual screens during his father’s morning message. He and his younger brother, Zane, a freshman at Pawnee High School, take turns serving in this ministry at our church.

                Our conversation turned to the 13th win by the football team on which Ben and Zane played. Their coaching staff, featuring their father, our pastor, Mike Brock, had coached the high school team to 13 wins and just as important, no losses.

Zane, Mike, and Ben Brock - my favorite
freshman player, my favorite coach, and my
favorite junior player of the Pawnee Bears -
photograph from Caryn Tucker Brock's digital colletion
As I thought of Ben and Zane's courtesy, I recalled the
church's Thanksgiving dinner when the two Brock high
schoolers readily helped Wanda Rice Nix carry 
containers to her car. I commented that probably no
other Black Bear players were quicker to obey than 
them. Zane quipped, "Our dad is our coach!" 
Zane and Ben, keep setting  for all the good example
 that your parents have taught you. 

                As we exited the sanctuary, I questioned Ben about their upcoming playoff opponent, Mangum. I mentioned rain was predicted for Friday. He indicated Mangum had received much less rain than Pawnee. The Pawnee Black Bears’ ranking allowed them to host the game at Pawnee. Then Ben replied confidently, “We are used to playing in the mud and rain.”

                On the Friday after Thanksgiving, within a few hours of the kick-off of the playoff game in Pawnee, Ben’s response about rain leaped wildly into my mind as I put out a round bale of hay in the mud. I drove to put out the bale without incident, but as I pulled the damp, fishy-smelling, protective bale wrap off, Ben's excitement for "mudball" fleetingly crossed my mind.

When I stepped into the mud around the bale ring to lift it, my boots sank several inches. I prayed silently for strength to get out. Even though thick mud clung stubbornly to my boots, thankfully, as I pulled with all my might, out they came. Yet as I moved the bale ring, the muddy mess made me feel unstable, tottery and sure to fall down. I couldn’t go down in this quagmire! I called loudly, “Lord, keep me up! Keep me up! Keep me up!” 

                Even though my gloves were such a muddy mess, I hadn’t fallen. As I drove slowly to the house with a thankful heart, someone other than myself entered my mind. I thought, This is the very weather Ben was hoping for and probably praying for. Lord, help them to play their best. 

                That rainy night’s muddy game afforded the Pawnee Black Bears their 14^th win. They completed the 2019 season with those 14 wins and only one loss.

                As I thought of the contrasting desires of  the Brock boys and me concerning weather, I recalled our pastor’s favorite statement for maintaining a unified church congregation. “It’s not about you.” This attitude guarantees unity and harmony in our rural church congregation. Decisions may not please every member each time, but if Biblical principles are not being violated then we must remember “It’s not about me.”

                My mother thinks my connection with our pastor is a story worth telling. I first met Mike, as his 3^rd grade music teacher, the first year I began teaching in Fairfax. He and his fellow blondie, Tommy Hendricks, would race up the steps of the stage at Marlin Crowder Elementary School - if Mrs. Rice, their teacher, was not within earshot. They delighted  to slide into the chairs on the front row. Occasionally, I had to say, “Now, Mike and Tommy.” In my inexperience, I thought the boys ran because they couldn’t wait to learn musical note values, the lines and spaces, and other bits of music theory. Instead they were “ready to roll” after tolerating all the desk time their little, energetic third grade bodies could stand.

                Now forty years later, on a weekly basis, Mother and I find ourselves on the second row of our church taking notes as we listen attentively to Mike’s sermons. Mother began privately praying after only hearing a few of his strong Bible-based sermons for God to give us Mike as a pastor. However, she knew he was teaching and coaching and was pleasantly surprised and grateful when he agreed in 2018 to serve as our pastor.

                God has given the church dedicated, godly men as pastors over its 122-year history. We daily thank Him for graciously giving growth to us in a tiny town when so many rural congregations are dwindling in the 21st century. Only our great God calls a rancher’s son, gives him the capability to convey the truths of God’s Word, returns him to a congregation of rural residents he understands, and places in his heart a willingness to consistently prepare weekly messages replete with nourishing, life-changing scripture.

                “It’s not about me” had to be remembered by Ben, Zane and Mike for a successful football season. A congregation of believers must do the same. Peter admonished in his epistle in I Peter 3:8 - 

Finally, all of you be of one mind, having compassion for one another; 

love as brothers, be tenderhearted, be courteous;

Mike, our pastor, and his sons, Ben and Zane, along with so many of our small church flock, model compassion, tenderheartedness and courtesy. That’s God plan for a loving church.

When a pastor and congregation do God’s work His way, God will get the glory.