The Power of Thankfulness...

            ...To the Only One Worthy of Receiving It

           With a tight Sunday morning schedule, I braved the cold to check the water level in the livestock tank. Sure enough, as I approached the tank, I could see it was brim-full (I’d filled it the night before to save time). That prompted me to offer thanks to the Lord for the six-decade-old livestock tank Dad installed in cement all those years ago making it next to impossible to replace. 

The Vintage Livestock Tank

Looking at the side of the tank, I rejoiced at the dryness of the areas Ben, my brother-in-law, had treated to ensure no leakage in the vintage tank. My memory recalled how he worked diligently to clear the area around the tank on one of the hottest Saturdays of the past summer and then fixed the leaks.

One area treated by my
brother-in-law during the
 summer. The patch had been
done about 10 years ago by
Hubert Hutchens, a dear
friend and neighbor.

           As I turned toward the house, I spotted the frost-free hydrant installed by Jim Hutchison in 2012, the first summer following Dad’s first stroke. Jim was glad to replace the old hydrant so my watering concerns during the upcoming winter would be minimized, especially eliminating my chopping ice.

The frost-free hydrant 
installed by Jim Hutchison

            On the coldest of winter days, my practice of purposeful thankfulness seemed to diminish and sometimes abolished complaining. A welcomed offshoot of counting my blessings resulted in warming my heart and even seemed to warm the rest of me.

            A few years ago, I read of an agnostic author who battled debilitating anxiety. She shared her story of difficult situations and events in her past. Bottom line, she found practicing daily common thankfulness a much better option than the medications she had been prescribed (I do not condone discontinuing prescribed anxiety medication).  Yet she emphasized in several paragraphs that this was NOT thankfulness to God. It was just common thankfulness.

            The elimination of God in her daily self-care came as no surprise based on this author’s world view of the concept of God as a crutch. Yet I could not wrap my mind around her thankfulness without a recipient.

             I did a quick survey of verses in the Bible related to thankfulness. Scores of verses on thankfulness, encouraging thankfulness, illustrating thankfulness or praise, or decrying ingratitude were found in Scripture.

            I agreed wholeheartedly with the agnostic writer on the necessity of daily thankfulness, but I refused sharply her need to exclude God, the Creator, Sustainer, and Redeemer of humankind. The God full of lovingkindness, mercy and grace deserved the agnostic author's moment-by-moment offerings of thankfulness for only He is worthy.*

            Lord, when I offer thankfulness to You, I sense You are supporting and carrying me through challenging times. I will praise You, O Lord, with my whole heart; I will tell of all Your marvelous works. (Psalm 9:1) With all my heart, I thank You for the gift of salvation in Jesus. Grant me an even closer walk each day with You. In the precious name of Jesus, Amen.

*G.K. Chesterton, a gifted English writer of the early 20th century, who profoundly influenced C.S. Lewis's conversion to Christianity, once addressed thankfulness and atheism. He said, "The worst moment for an atheist is when he is really thankful and has no one to thank." 

Remembering James Franklin Gates

     Next Friday, January 28, marks the 91st year of the birth of Jim Gates, who was the next to the youngest son of my grandparents, Edmund, Sr. and Mamie Gates. He fought valiantly non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma with the total support of Lou, his wife, until his death on January 18, 2017. (This originally published on January 26, 2016.)

    Edmund Gates, Sr. and Mamie Irene Tripp Gates lived most of their 54 years of marriage on the Arkansas River on the west side of the Big Bend Community west of Ralston. Their children, especially their sons learned to love the river, primarily by hiking to the riverbank of their 95-acre farm located in Osage County in Oklahoma. Edmund Gates, Sr. taught his children from an early age to respect the river. He helped them learn the river was always more powerful than they were, and they must think any time they were near it or in it. When the boys became responsible enough to be trusted to go to the river unaccompanied by a parent, my grandmother, Mamie said she always began counting heads as soon as she could see them emerging from the river bottom. In my opinion, Grandma preferred the ponds that were later built on their place far more than the Arkansas River, but that’s a story for another day.

    One of the favorite stories of my father connected with the Arkansas River is about his brother, James Franklin Gates who was born on January 28, 1931. My father, Edmund Gates, Jr. turned 12 years old the following June of the year James Franklin was born.

William Herbert and James Franklin Gates- from the collection

 of Lou Dixon Gates and Jeannie Spurgeon Gates

    Two years later in the summer of 1933, Dad age 14, and his brothers - Fredrick age 12 , Jess age 10, and Herbert age 5 were headed out on one of the most exciting outings possible on the farm in the summer – a trek to the Arkansas River for wading, swimming, and just on all-out good time. Little Jimmy, as they referred to their baby brother, began begging his mother to go with the big boys. Grandma, who feared the river more than respected it, was adamant that Little Jimmy was far too young to go to the river, but my father intervened for his baby brother, “Mom, let Little Jimmy go. I’ll look after him.” Evidently, Dad, the oldest living son, had shouldered much responsibility at a young age, having by this time four younger brothers, two older sisters, and a younger sister. He must have proven his trustworthiness to his mother over the years because she surprisingly agreed to let Little Jimmy go with the big boys.

     It is important to know my father looked little two-year-old Jimmy in the eye and with a tone exuding seriousness and sincerity, said, “Jimmy, you better do what I say, or you’ll never get to go to the river again with us.” Edmund grabbed his hand, and Jimmy walked with his big brothers to the river bottom.

     Once they arrived at the river, Dad found a safe, little pool for Jimmy to splash and play in the water. My father reiterated again, “Jimmy, stay right here and play. If you move, you’ll never come to the river with us again.” Little Jimmy obeyed perfectly. That was one of many fun-filled trips made by the brothers to the river bottom.

Jim and Edmund, Jr. in their childhood home in 1990. My Aunt Lou
Dixon Gates still lives in this family heirloom.

    Bobby Simma, one of the principals under whom I taught, thought my father would have only needed a couple of weeks to shape up some of the students’ behavior.* Based on this family story, Dad learned to be an effective disciplinarian early in his life. Uncle Jim learned early what he needed to do to spend time having fun with his brothers.

     I am still astounded that a 14-year-old would be willing to take on the responsibility for a little one and guaranteed he would successfully get the two-year-old safely home. Even as a teen-ager, he worked seven days a week rarely getting time off to do activities like going to the river, yet was so unselfish and thoughtful of the wishes of his baby brother. How amazing that a little two-year-old was already so well trained that he could comprehend what was being expected of him by his mother and oldest brother and then even more unbelievable that he had the self-control to do it! I'm not sure that they make them like these two anymore!

 *Dad often made the complimentary remark about Bobby  "He's a school man." He was always ready for an evening to hear Bobby perform with the Singing Churchmen. The first time Dad met Bobby after he had taken the position at Perkins-Tryon School District, Dad told him bruskly, "I'm selling out!" Bobby shot back, "There are ranches for sale near Perkins." They both shared a good laugh.

The Youngest of the Twelve Gates Children

      Several relatives have expressed interest in some of our ancestors. I have decided to reprise this year some of the past blog posts that featured family members of the past.

                                          Grandma’s Prettiest Baby - This post originally published January 17, 2016.

                In the January 30, 1941 issue of The Fairfax Chief, Ida Gilliland, the Chief's correspondent for the Woodland district in the Big Bend, wrote in her column:

Mr. and Mrs. Ed Gates announce the arrival of a new son at their home Sunday, January 19 to whom they have given the name John Francis.

                Little Johnny, as he came to be called by his family, would be the last baby born to my grandparents. My eldest aunt, Ella, had already married. Aunt Mary had moved to Oklahoma City to work. My father, Edmund Gates Jr., at age 21, still lived at home and helped on the farm. The other children at home were: Jess-age 17, Martha-age 15, Herbert-age 12, Jim- age 9, Julia-age 7, and Mamie- age 2.

                Soon the family’s precious new baby exhibited symptoms belying a healthy infant. One of the symptoms mentioned by my father about his baby brother was inconsolable crying. Shortly after his birth, "spots" appeared on his tiny body. 
                Years later Grandma would tell Aunt Mamie Marie that she wasn't feeling well in 1940 so she went to the doctor and let him know she thought she might be pregnant. He disagreed and gave her a hormone shot. Aunt Martha and Aunt Mamie Marie recalled that Grandma had influenza. Then after Little Johnny's birth when his condition worsened, the medical diagnosis of the day indicated Grandma’s sickness as the cause for the critically ill little one.

                My father and I wrote of Little Johnny’s illness in his World War II experiences as documented in Okie Over Europe. Dad transported Grandma and the baby to Ponca City to be treated by Dr. C.W. Arrendell, a  well-respected pediatrician. Dad was the family's designated driver of the 1937 International pickup (bought used around 1939) since Grandpa did not try to drive due to his hearing impairment. Just months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor and Dad's subsequent enlistment in military service, my father faced the severe illness of his youngest brother and being forced to admit his helplessness to ease the tiny baby's pain or assure his mother of a positive outcome. Grandma told Aunt Mamie Marie of her dislike of the hospital in Ponca City. The hospital personnel never offered her a chair during his treatments. So Grandma just stood by her suffering baby's bedside throughout the ordeal of each treatment.

                Gladys Rainey Smith, my maternal grandmother, was The Fairfax Chief correspondent for the Belford community. In one of her news columns, she mentioned Mr. and Mrs. Carl Crowder, the teachers at the Belford Grade School, had visited in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Ed Gates. (Carl Crowder was a brother of the longtime Fairfax grade school principal, Marlin Crowder.) Grandma Gladys wrote “the baby is only slightly improved following a 3-month illness. The child has a blood disease that has caused much concern among the doctors.”

                The next issue of The Fairfax Chief reported the death of Johnny Gates both in the Belford and Woodland news columns. My maternal grandmother mentioned that he “received three blood transfusions in Ponca City in an effort to save his life.”

John Francis Gates and his sister, Mamie Marie. This is the only
photograph I have seen of the little one that Grandma described as
her "prettiest baby" according to Uncle Jim Gates. Mamie Marie 
said Grandma described his eye color as "Dark blue - They looked
 navy." Standing by his little iron bed after he had died in their home
is the only memory that Mamie Marie had of her baby brother. She 
was only two years old at the time of his death.

                The service for the tiniest Gates child was at 10 a.m. on Wednesday, August 20, at the Pentecostal Church of God on the western side of the Bend with Charley Buxbaum preaching the service.

                That August morning the Gates family rode behind the hearse bearing a small coffin once again. Ed and Mamie Gates were burying their youngest son. Almost 27 years earlier, with crushed hearts, they had traveled the same country road to the Pixley Cemetery with the little body of their oldest son, Robert.

                Only six years early, the distraught family stood by the open grave of their 14-year-old son, Fredrick Daniel, killed suddenly by a deadly lightning strike on his 14^th birthday. What soul-numbing sorrow assaulted and tore my grandmother’s loving, tender heart through the deaths of her three precious sons! Yet I never once heard her say, “Why me?” Nothing about her demeanor indicated she dwelt on how her cherished babies were wrenched from her arms by the icy, cruel hand of death.

                Grandma’s resiliency provides a model for all of us. Every human being experiences loss in one form or another. As I reflected on this baby boy’s death, a passage in the Old Testament of the Bible kept coming to my mind. I pondered as to whether this account was read or mentioned at the August funeral.

                In 2 Samuel 12:22, King David had fasted and prayed for the healing of his little son, but the boy died. David responded to his death by saying, “Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

My father related that my grandparents, following Fredrick’s death in 1935, made professions of faith or commitments to follow Jesus. Dad made this statement in one of our family story discussions, "He (Grandpa Gates) and Mama became Christians as a result of our family’s tragedy.  Even though we had no car, they tried to attend the Pentecost Holiness Church that was located on the northwest corner of what is now Carl Goad’s property."

The tombstone of John Francis Gates at Pixley Cemetery as shown on findagrave.com
Leukemia in infancy continues to be rare - only around 160 cases yearly in the
United States, however the survival rate remains only a little over 50% due to
the difficulty in correctly diagnosing until the disease has aggressively
progressed past the possibility for  successful treatment .

Like King David, Grandma and Grandpa knew they would see their precious Little Johnny again because of the hope they had in Jesus. 

Mahogany

                 As I prepare to publish this week's blog post, I think my father would probably say Mahogany has cow sense. He would likely think I attribute too much to her thinking capability. He would be right, I know. Yet I think observing animals in nature can teach us much and open our eyes to God's workings in our lives.

                After feeding pellets to the herd and filling the stock tank, my next task was checking the melting ice on the big pond. I had been trying to count the calves in our 2022 calf crop. After a couple of tries, I kept coming up one calf short.

                When climbing into the pickup, I heard the bawling of a baby calf. Sure enough, as I glanced north, I spotted the little bull calf belonging to Lady Jane Grey*. Wouldn’t you know, the little bull with the darling face followed the truck toward the pond instead of going back to the herd. Of course, as he observed me swing the truck around and head back, he wheeled around and ran like the wind ahead of me. He couldn’t find the gate opening to rejoin the herd, so hopping out of the truck, I guided the cute little bull to the gate.

Lady Jane Grey's little wayward
calf when I spotted him.

                 As I watched the little bull meander toward the herd feeding at the bale ring, he continued to bawl as a calf does for its mama cow. Then Mahogany, an eight-year-old cow, who probably serves as a bell cow, interjected herself into this situation. (My father used the term “bell cow” to mean “leader.” It stemmed from a past era when the lead or dominant cow wore a bell for easier locating.)

                Mahogany, the dark red cow, made her way in a deliberate manner toward Lady Jane Grey’s calf. Mahogany’s determined action was accompanied by loud mooing. Her own well-behaved little calf tagged along. Soon she had redirected the errant calf and Mahogany returned to her spot at the bale ring. 

                As I stood pondering what I had observed from Mahogany, I had never seen behavior like hers from other cows, but she seemed to understand the little calf wasn’t where he belonged. She couldn’t eat in peace until she had gone after the little one even though he wasn’t her calf.

I began thinking of our local church or any group of Jesus followers. I have mentioned to parents the importance of a church congregation who cares, loves, and wants the best for their children. Yet every member of a church family – no matter the age - shares a responsibility to encourage and enrich all members of that cherished body. The writer of Hebrews in chapter 10, verses 24-25 wrote succinctly:

In response to all He has done for us, let us outdo each other in being helpful and kind to each other and in doing good. Let us not neglect our church meetings, as some people do, but encourage and warn each other, especially now that the day of His coming back again is drawing near.

Mahogany during early January 2022

                May Mahogany, the strong, dark red cow, serve as a reminder to never let people “fall through the cracks” or “fade from the fellowship.” Jesus warned sternly in Mark 9:42, “These little ones believe in Me. It would be best for the person who causes one of them to lose faith to be thrown into the sea with a large stone hung around his neck.” Whether we apply this passage to children or to people who are young in the Lord, if we believe Jesus’ words, we must pursue building them up with His words from scripture. We have a mandate to strengthen with our actions and uplift in prayer the children and the new believers in our families and churches.

*Note: I name cows only for record keeping purposes. Coupled with photography, it works since we have a small herd.

   

What Do Those Words Mean?

The Words She Didn’t Know

            Recently Mother shared a remembrance from her early childhood – one I had never heard. I prefaced this recollection with the fact that she is the oldest Jesus follower I know.

            Mother said she did not know who God or Jesus was as a young child. She did not recall seeing a Bible during her early years. But she remembers distinctly hearing God’s name and asking in her little mind What do those words mean? She even tried to say them with the same emphasis as she had heard those words spoken. When she heard them usually the speaker was exasperated or angry.

            Mother was almost seven years old before her mother made a life-altering commitment to Jesus. Prior to that September Revival of 1931 held in the Bend, Mother had never been to a church service.

            Suddenly for my mother, everything changed. Her mother began reading and studying her Bible every day. The inspiring world of the Bible stories that she cherishes to this day came alive as her mother read them to her.

            The words that Mother had heard used as profanity or cursing now were spoken in prayer before each of their meals. Grandma began teaching my mother each night before tucking her into bed to pray to the God who made her and loved her.

            In August of 1932, just shy of one year after Grandma’s conversion, the little congregation fasted and prayed for Grandpa’s salvation. In God’s gracious mercy, He drew Grandpa into a relationship with Him.

            Even though Mother was already seven years old, her parents’ salvation radically changed their activities, their habits, and their priorities because Jesus became the Lord of their lives and their home. Who benefited the most? Their only daughter who had never heard God’s name used in praise or prayer for her first six years. Yet my sister and I can testify we never heard her use the names of God or Jesus Christ in any way but in prayer, praise, reading, or teaching that built truth into our lives. Even at age 97, she still impacts people by her unwavering faith in the God she began learning about over 90 years ago.

Bernyce Smith Gates, my mother at
age 97 on Christmas 2021.

            As we begin a new year, may parents and grandparents who profess belief in Jesus dedicate their speech, their priorities, and their habits to serve as an example that will surely lead their children or grandchildren into a vibrant relationship with Jesus. The invaluable bonus resulting from a lifestyle of following Jesus is the surety of leading their precious children to receive Jesus and join them on the road to eternity with Him.

An Afterthought - Colossians 3:8 says, But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. What a different nation and world we would have if parents made this singular verse their 2022 motto!