"The Christmas Tree" Wish Never Granted

 This is a revisiting of a blog post first published in December of 2013. Even though Mother was an only child (she dislikes the stereotype associated with her status), at 96, she continues to live as a caring, compassionate person with a grateful heart.

   Wishing, wishing, wishing, with all her heart but to no avail. That phrase described my mother’s yearly experience at the annual Christmas Tree at Belford School.

   My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, attended first through eighth grade at Belford School. Belford, located on the east side of the Big Bend, was always considered the smaller school since Woodland (not to confused with the present-day consolidated district serving Ralston and Fairfax) in the west part of the Bend had a three-room building and a larger student population. How hard to believe that little two-room Belford School in the Great Depression had over seventy students!

   In rural schools like Belford, the Christmas Tree was an annual event in the first half of the twentieth century. The performance of the Christmas program by the students from first through eighth grades kicked off the evening. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated with presents the parents had brought for their children, and the children could hardly wait for their individual names to be called so they could receive their present from the "tree."

    As a little girl, Bernyce wished and hoped to hear her name called and see a hand take one of the beautiful dolls from the tree and hand it to her. This wish was never granted - first of all because Mother never told her parents of her secret wish. Secondly, her mother, Gladys Rainey Smith, was far too practical and cautious for my mother to receive a doll from the Christmas Tree. My grandmother feared little Bernyce’s gift would be stolen or lost. In the 1930s, all things (including food and clothing) were precious and hard to come by--not to mention something so extraordinary as a doll for Christmas. She and Grandpa Calvin just couldn’t take that chance of having an extravagant gift stolen or lost since they knew it would spoil their little girl’s Christmas, and they could not afford to replace it.

    My grandparents had gotten her a doll when she was four or five. It had real brown hair and its eyes would open and then close when she laid it down to sleep. Mother’s excitement peaked when she realized this 18-inch doll could walk when she held its hands. She treasured this doll for many years. Children of the Great Depression learned quickly to vigilantly care for anything they called their own.
   Even as she got older this doll held a special place in her heart and in her small collection of keepsakes; her doll was a precious possession until one day she looked north from their home on the Jefferson lease and was horrified to see the home of the Peters family (incidently located on what is now my mother's place) engulfed in flames. Her heart ached with empathy for the little girl in the family named Bethelea. Little Bethelea was younger than my mother. Almost immediately my mother knew what she wanted to do. She pulled her treasured doll from her small collection of keepsakes and at the first opportunity, gave her doll to the little girl who had lost everything.   

Bernyce Smith Gates (top) and
 Bethelea Peters Myers (bottom)
taken from the 1934 Belford
School Group Photograph

   Isn’t that what Christmas is about? God gave to us His very best because of our dire need for a Savior. Mother saw how desperately a little girl needed a doll to help provide security and comfort since her family had lost everything. Mother never got her wish to receive a doll from the Belford School Christmas tree, but her compassion and generosity prompted her to give freely to little Bethelea who must have so wanted a doll to cuddle. Mother didn’t receive a doll the way she wished from the community's Christmas Tree, but she did receive a life-long memory of the blessing of giving. After all, Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” At Christmas, many of us give to others less fortunate or with needs out of our abundance or give what we have no attachment to and are wanting to discard and never experience sacrificial giving. When I think of the phrase "give until it hurts" I am reminded of this story and the generosity and sacrifice of a little girl--my mother.

Christmas Eve, 2020

As we discussed this incident, Mother mentioned something she had never discussed. She said she didn't think her mother wanted her to give the cherished doll away. Then she added, "But she didn't try to stop me. She knew I was giving from my heart."

Stage Fright at Big Bend Baptist Church

         Each of my parents and maternal grandparents believed whatever one did should be done well. I must memorize my part for the Christmas program at our church. The songs needed no daily rehearsal. I sang them just for the fun of it. Daily practice of the assigned lines assured their recitation became instinctive to me.
         In 1962, we attended church within a few miles of our newly built home. The church building was located on Ball Diamond Hill or Church House Hill, as it was referred to in those days. The church was named The Big Bend Baptist Church. We usually only had morning church services each week. Jimmy Warnock, an Oklahoma Baptist University student, preached each week.
         Often in the early 1960s, Anna Marie Jefferson, Janet Nix, Mike Mitchell, Charlie Adair, and I enjoyed Sunday School class together. Older kids who attended regularly were Wayne Ray Mitchell, Jobe Adair, and Donald Wilson. When we had Vacation Bible School in the summer, the number of students tripled. (To see a photo from one summer VBS, go to the posting at: https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2014/05/celebrating-hundred-year-old-treasure.html )
         At home, I enjoyed reciting the lines I had been assigned. I thrived on praise, as any child does. Every time I recited “my piece” distinctly, loudly, and fluently, my grandpa would heap compliments upon me.
         Grandpa knew much more about public performances than his little six-year-old granddaughter. He knew I was gregarious and outgoing at home, but shyness overtook me around others.
         Anytime I rode into Fairfax with Grandpa, we went into my favorite store, Drake’s 5 and 10. The usual purchase Grandpa allowed me to make was a Little Golden Book, but my doting grandfather permitted me to browse through the toy aisle. I wandered up and down the southernmost aisle, engrossed in all my eyes could absorb.
        Grandpa observed my enchantment with a “pop” drinking mechanical bear. Grandpa said, “If you say your part during the Christmas program, we’ll get that bear for you.” What an incentive he had given me! He hoped the promise of this mechanical bear would be enough encouragement for the delivery of my few lines at the Christmas program.
        On the evening of the Christmas program as we drove up the hill to the church, the lights glimmered through the windows of the church that chilly December night. That was different. Usually, we arrived at the church in the sunlight of Sunday mornings. As we entered the church building, it appeared the church was packed with people.
        The program began. Our beginner class walked in orderly fashion onto the stage. Upon turning to face the crowd, I thought Every person in the Bend must be here. Stage fright crept upon me, a first grader in her custom-designed Christmas dress created by her grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith. The silvery rickrack trim on it dimmed. Suddenly, all I could see were more faces than I had ever seen in one place. It seemed everyone in the world showed up for that Christmas program! (For another blog posting about Grandma's sewing prowess, go to: https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-gift-that-forever-changed-my.html )

One of my rehearsals of the Christmas songs 
prior to the Christmas program at the Big Bend
Church. Notice the rickrack detail Grandma
used to make my Christmas dress
 "one-of-a-kind."

        Then the inevitable happened. It was time for me to “say my part.” Despite all the practicing, the promise from Grandpa, and the vision in my mind of the mechanical bear on the shelf of Drake’s 5 and 10, I could not eke out a syllable. I distinctly remember these decades later my thought. Well, there goes the bear!
        Grandpa and I never spoke about my failure to deliver during the Christmas program. Even though, he was the most doting of the four adults in our home, I did not receive the mechanical bear, but neither did I ever fail to recite parts in other plays or programs later in my life.
        Fear can paralyze us as it did me the night of the Christmas program in 1962, or it can motivate us to do greater things than we thought possible from ourselves. As this final posting before Christmas Day, I thought of central figures at the first Christmas - Mary, the mother of Jesus, Joseph, her betrothed, and the shepherds. Each were told initially by the heavenly messenger, “Do not be afraid."
        Mary could have responded, “This will destroy my reputation. It sounds like I am hiring on for a lot of trouble. No thanks.” Instead, she said in Luke 2:38 “Let it be to me according to your word.”
        Joseph probably wanted to tell the angel of the Lord, “I don’t want to get caught up in this mess. After all, I am just beginning my carpentry business.” But what did Matthew 1:24 record? “Joseph…did as the angel of the Lord commanded him…”
        Finally, the lowly shepherds could have focused on their lowly social standing and inferiority in the eyes of many instead of obeying the angel's instruction. But Luke 2:15-20 documents their eagerness to travel into Bethlehem not only to see the new little Savior but also to joyfully publicize about “this Child.”
        May we reject fear and follow the obedience of Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds in whatever area God’s Spirit is prompting us to heed Him. Let’s take every opportunity to make Jesus the purpose of this Christmas season.

An Unlikely Marriage on December 13, 1900

The 120th Anniversary of Robert Thomas Black and Nettie Ann Venator Tripp Black 

        My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., often indicated his mother, Mamie Irene Tripp Gates, “wasn’t much for stories.” His father, Edmund Gates, Sr., tried to draw Grandma into his frequent family recollections. Dad said Grandma responded a bit perturbed, “Oh I don’t care anything about those old stories.”
        Just months before Grandma’s death, I visited in her home near the Arkansas River in the Big Bend, west of Ralston, Oklahoma. I gathered the courage to ask about her early life. Surprisingly, Grandma said, “I remember telling my father good-bye when I was five.” He died on October 25, 1900, just a couple of months after her fifth birthday.
        At the time, my great-grandparents, Rufus and Nettie, lived on a farm having livestock and a dependable hired hand. My Aunt Mamie Marie Gates Judkins Tice related her grandfather, Rufus, had a permit to work in Indian Territory.
        Brenda Gates, another granddaughter of Mamie Tripp Gates, gave me a letter written from Nettie to Rufus. Great-grandma Nettie dated her letter August 28, 1897. Grandma Mamie had just turned two years old. She was a sick baby according to her mother who said doses of quinine made her feel better. Every time she referred to her in the letter, she called her "your baby." Rufus listed his age as 34 when they married in 1892. Little Mamie was the first baby for them both, with Rufus in his late 30s and Nettie in her mid-20s.
        Quinine was used until late into the last century for combatting malaria. Untreated malaria can lead to renal failure. Dad’s youngest sister, Mamie Marie Gates Judkins Tice, related that Grandma said her father, Rufus, died of kidney disease. My mother found it interesting that prior to Grandma’s death, her doctor explained she only had one working kidney that had become “compromised.” The second kidney was non-functioning. How interesting to comb through an over 100-year-old letter and discover perhaps it was not a genetic predisposition to renal disease but the malaria-transmitting mosquitoes that plagued our ancestors in the hot Oklahoma summers of the 1890s!
        Suddenly, Great-grandma Nettie had lost the man she dearly loved. Her primary responsibility had been to care for little Mamie and the twins, Cora and Nora, who were age two. Cora, in her later years, described Little Nora as “always sickly.” How could Nettie go on?

Edna, Robert T., Tommy, Nettie, and Ruby Black. My father said this was taken
at the Mayse place when his Grandpa Black worked for Mrs. Mayse. For more
about the Mrs. Mayse, the grandmother of Ann and Roger Noble go to:
https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2019/06/the-lady-who-made-fourth-of-july.html

        

       Exactly seven weeks later, Nettie and Robert Thomas Black, the trusted hired hand, were married in Pawnee on Thursday, December 13, 1900. At her death, in her obituary published in The Fairfax Chief following her death at age 80, one highlight mentioned was the celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary less than six months prior to Bob Black’s death. 
        I observed how my grandmother loved dearly her brother, Tommy Black and her youngest sister, Edna Black. I don't recall meeting a third child, Ruby Black, born to Robert and Nettie Black.
        

Thomas Guinn Black, Mamie Irene Tripp Gates,
Lee Alice Forbus Black, Edna Jane Black. Taken
in 1961 at Tommy and Lee's home in rural
Maramec in Pawnee County, Oklahoma. Photo
provided by Brenda Gates.

        Longevity in a marriage finds its basis in commitment. My father spoke often of his Grandpa Black and intimated he shortened his life working so hard to care for Nettie in their last years. Aunt Mamie Marie described the only grandpa she ever knew as "the sweetest man," telling me she cried bitterly at his death.
        As I envisioned their simple civil ceremony with vows spoken, offering each other a lifelong pledge, even as the bride’s grief hovered in the background, a scripture came into my thoughts. The Apostle Paul wrote in Ephesians 5:25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her. Every marriage based and nurtured on the sacrifice of love for each other will last as Grandpa and Grandma Black’s promises did.
        God ordained marriage to illustrate His relationship with individuals who respond to His call on their lives. Just as a good marriage involves daily communication to maintain a vibrant, marital relationship so does our relationship with Jesus, the one who loved us and gave Himself for us. May we daily respond to Him in obedience with thankful hearts for His coming to sacrifice Himself for us. 

        

Additional link:

Earlier Blog Written About the Marriage of Robert and Nettie Black - https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-marriage-of-robert-and-nettie-black.html

The Early Gift

We never experience success without God's faithfulness and favor. Neither are we successful without dependable and unselfish friends and relatives. Tim Gates and Hubert Hutchens supported Dad enabling him to stay in his favorite life's work, raising cattle. Greg and Vonda Goad and Mother's son-in-law, Ben Bradley, have provided equipment and maintenance for Mother to live in the Bend where she most wants to be.

I began cattle care on the farm with Dad’s vintage 1990 F-150 truck modified by Tim Gates, Dad's nephew, with a winch to put out round bales. Hubert Hutchens, one of Dad’s closest neighbors and friends, used his welding prowess to create a “dandy” spike. I wore out two winches which my brother-in-law replaced.

My brother-in-law cautioned me sternly to drive extremely carefully. He warned me to remain mindful or, “You’ll break that axle.” For the first few years of dry, mild winters, I managed to care for the cattle. My brother-in-law’s maintenance kept the old pickup running.

Some wintery weather changed the situation for putting out bales. Vonda Goad would call with an offer to help get a bale out for the cattle. Over and over, she and Greg extended a helping hand.

 Vonda and Greg offered graciously their Dodge Ram with a hydraulic bed and hay fork at its back. For several years, they loaned the 1998 Ram to Mother and me. Every time I needed to use the four-wheel drive feature of the truck, I gratefully thanked the Lord for Vonda and Greg’s generosity.

Even though I used Dad’s vintage truck every time I possibly could, we needed to locate a dependable truck for Mother to buy. Along with my sister and brother-in-law, I conducted an unfruitful search for over three years.

During the summer when visiting with a friend, I indicated I had written in my prayer journal my request for an updated pickup with a four-wheel drive and a hay spike. She said. “That’s a God-sized task!” 

This is the entry in my journal. I remember wanting to put "Ford" since Dad only owned  Ford
 trucks during my lifetime! But that seemed to be asking beyond our need.

In September, when getting a new battery for my car, I met a friend, a seasoned cattleman, who teased me about updating my car. I responded that needing a truck might be more important. I told him I had been told finding a good used truck was a “God-sized” task. He nodded and agreed a truck might be hard to find.

In mid-October, while getting my car serviced in Ponca City, I conversed with an older man from north of Ponca City who ran a dairy in his early years and had retired from his cow/calf operation. His wife was a retired schoolteacher. As we visited, I astounded myself by saying, “You probably haven’t heard of anyone with a pickup with a hay spike for sale. They’re pretty hard to find.”

This pleasant gentleman said, “I might.”

He continued saying his nephew, who leased his land and bought his cattle, used the truck. I responded quickly that he had better not sell it. He let me know his nephew had his own truck, but he would ask him to be sure.

 He provided details – 2009 Ford F-350, Four-wheel drive, hydraulic bed with hay fork. Then he said, “But the color is beige.”

I exclaimed, “I don’t care if it is purple polka dot if it will put out a bale!”

The pickup Mother purchased. I could hear Dad
say to her, "Honey, You got it for a song and you
sang it yourself!" She may be one of the older 
vehicle purchasers in the county but doesn't want
to drive it!

           My brother-in-law wanted to know how soon we could see it. Ten days later, Angie, Ben and I saw the truck for the first time in the Wal-Mart parking lot at Blackwell. Mother at 96 years old sent the personal check which the retired cattleman had told her would be an acceptable method of payment. Ben drove it to the farm. Mother and I had a new-to-us truck.

We marveled how God blessed us. In His own time, He provided exactly what we needed. Jesus explicitly taught us of His Father’s ways with His children.

…For your Father knows the things you have need of before you ask Him. Matthew 6:8

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Matthew 6:33

We are celebrating this season of God giving His gracious gift of Jesus as our only way of salvation from our sin. The Apostle Paul wrote of the perfect timing of the coming of the Redeemer in Galatians 4:4-5:

But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as children.

Lord, thank You for providing for us as we wait for Your answers to our prayers. Our hearts fill with gratitude that You know our needs before we ask and daily you load us with Your goodness. As we celebrate the most extravagant gift You ever gave - Your Own Son. with the Apostle Paul we say, Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!

 The only issue for me with the new-to-us truck 
  was the big step into the cab for my short legs. My
   brother-in-law installed a side step for both doors.