Remembering Nelda

   This Wednesday, March 29 will mark seven years since Nelda Shafer's death. So many people were touched by her life, her laughter, her loving ways and her love for the Lord. May we make our own little part of the world a better place by every day carrying on her legacy                          

She Was Bigger Than Life

                I met Nelda June Shafer upon being hired to teach at Marlin Crowder Elementary in Fairfax, Oklahoma, in the fall of 1979. Nelda exuded a warmth and friendliness, but there was so much more to her.

                Soon I would learn from my mother of the time Nelda spent in the Big Bend as a child, attending Belford Grade School. Mother extolled the godly character of Nelda’s mother, Rhoda McKinney, as well as Nelda’s grandmother, Mrs. Knight.

                Nelda came to the field of education later in life than some of us. She brought a common-sense approach to education. Foundationally, she loved each student. She cared about the efforts made by each parent. Her compassion and endeavor to reach each student knew no bounds.

                Nelda loved to laugh. How often she orchestrated a practical joke, getting as many other faculty members involved as possible! It seemed her favorite targets were Woogie Adams and Burley Hathcoat. The retelling of her elaborate ruses brought as much laughter to Nelda and the rest of us as the initial incident itself had.

                Yet the strong inner part of Nelda made her who she was. In the spring of 1987, I observed this. I recall Sharon Stewart leaning over to me in the choir loft of the Ralston Baptist Church on Easter Sunday, inquiring if I had heard about Nelda’s daughter. What horror to learn she had been murdered!

                With music interwoven into every fiber of my being, the two of the musical selections chosen by Nelda for Sherri’s funeral service remain indelible in my memory. One was the upbeat song entitled “Angels All Around Me.” “The Only Real Peace That I Have” was the other song. I glimpsed Nelda’s face during the song. Since I have such a sensitive psyche, I always try to never focus on faces, especially eyes, at a funeral. That empathetic part of me tends to “weep with those that weep.” Even though I knew Nelda experienced heart-wrenching grief, she had a persona of peace as the song stated because, “the only real peace that we have, dear Lord, is in You.” *        

                Many years later, Nelda and I were required to attend a training. I don’t recall what we were learning or where we drove to learn it. I do remember Nelda was driving. She and I tended to discuss deep or serious issues often when we had a conversation.

                Somehow her Melanie emerged as the topic. I may have asked a few questions, but primarily, I just listened. Nelda told of how she was alone in Oklahoma City when the doctor told her all efforts to allay the ravaging disease wreaking devastation on Melanie’s young body had been exhausted. Nothing more could be done. Nelda had to find her way home to Fairfax. She indicated she had no idea how she drove the two hours for miles and miles. I’m sure she had God’s angels all around her.

                Many times, I have drawn strength from Nelda’s experience in life. Each difficulty she handled with serene grace, a strong faith that God could act on her behalf, and the solid trust that the God who had seen her through so many adversities and trials would see her through whatever the present one was.
                 I remember dropping by to check on her when Shafe, her husband, was gravely ill. We visited a bit and I offered to pray with her. She said, "Just pray he can live until his birthday." We clasped hands and requested that God preserve Shafe's life until his birthday. He left this earthly life two days after his 89th birthday.

                Hopefully, as we mark the seventh year since her death, we will recall and retell the hilarious stories that she so loved. (I can hear her distinct laugh as I write this.) She would like that. Most of all, she would want each of her former students, each of her relatives, every parent that she encouraged, and each person she called “friend” to be assured that their sins have been forgiven by Jesus and are living daily in the peace that reliance on Him can bring to lives leaning on Him.

                Here final message, in her own distinctive handwriting, spoke to each of us from the folio distributed at her funeral. She gave the test preparation with the directive to “take the test.” Nelda desired for her students to succeed on every exam she gave. Her last one was no different. Here is the study sheet:

If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. Romans 10:9-10

                Genuine belief that Jesus is Lord (the Boss, yet never bossy) and was raised from the death of crucifixion must begin at the core of our being. When we embrace Jesus as Lord of our lives, we are given His righteousness and are not ashamed to confess Him as Lord – the One in charge. If we have truly accepted Jesus as our Lord then His leadership will be reflected in our lives. How much Nelda’s life reflected this! She studied God’s Word and prayed daily, stood for right even if it was unpopular. Her compassion and generosity touched so many of our lives.

                Have you passed her final test? Its results will determine whether you ever see this dynamic woman again. Passing Mrs. Shafer's final exam will enable you to stand tall in your own deep valleys because, like her, you will have Jesus walking beside you, giving you strength and encouragement.

*I listened to "The Only Real Peace" this week. Here is a link to it being sung by the composer's daughter, Candy Hemphill - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNO9gXVy9zo

The Influencers

       Much gratitude goes to Alan Yarborough and Sue Remick for these vintage photographs over a hundred years old. Alan and Sue are cousins who also descend from Cull-ca-yer (the spelling on his military record) and Rachel Kingfisher Smith. Thanks to both of them for sharing!

             March 13 marked 129 years since my maternal grandpa’s birth. Grandpa, Calvin Callcayah Smith, was born in the Cherokee Nation and named for his paternal grandfather, Cul-lah-ca Smith, who walked the Cherokee Trail of Tears with his mother and brother when little Cul-lah-ca (the spelling of his name on the 1851 Drennan Roll) was under ten years old.

              Cul Smith and his wife, Rachel Kingfisher Smith had four children – Walter, my great-grandfather, John, Josephine, and Elizabeth. Both parents were deceased by the time Walter was twelve. Family lore indicated these children orphaned directly by the Civil War’s incursion into the Cherokee Nation went to live with their maternal grandparents, the Kingfishers.

One of the few 
photos of Grandpa 
smiling.

           My grandpa highly regarded his aunts, Jo and Lizzie, as he referred to them. He never indicated that his father and siblings lost their parents violently when they were quite young.* In his few conversations about these beloved aunts, he highlighted how well educated they were.

 

Josephine Lee Smith West - given by 
Alan Yarborough, a grandson of Elizabeth
Purcell Hammer, Mother's cousin.

           Josephine Lee Smith West was born in 1860. According to family information from Elizabeth Purcell Hammer, Mother’s cousin, the Mayes County Historical Book had a section about Grandpa’s beloved Aunt Jo. “When Josephine was older, she was taken to Salina to enter the Cherokee Orphan Asylum, where she finished her schooling in 1880 at the age of 20.”

          Mabel Elizabeth Smith Wood Moore was born in 1862 making her the youngest of the children of Cul-lah-ca and Rachel Smith. According to her great-granddaughter, Sue Remick, Lizzie entered the Cherokee Orphan Asylum around 4 years old and lived there for some time. Sue located academic records showing that her great-grandmother was enrolled around the age of 10-11. She said there is a family story about Lizzie going to school and being sent home because she already had enough knowledge. Lizzie taught school in Rose, Oklahoma, in 1890, when she was 25 and already married.

Mabel Elizabeth Smith Wood Moore - photo
given by Sue Remick, her great 
granddaughter.

          The word “asylum” was used because it meant a “refuge, shelter, retreat” for the many Cherokee Civil War orphans or “half-orphans” (A half-orphan had lost one parent in the bloody conflict). The Cherokee leaders allotted money and used the palatial brick home built by Lewis Ross, the brother of Chief John Ross. Orchards, gardens, a cotton field, a cotton gin, a gristmill, and other farm buildings dotted the area for the much-valued Cherokee orphans. Only the gristmill still stands today.

          Grandpa held education in high esteem. Even though his own education was limited, even into his eighties, Grandpa voraciously read and studied, especially his Bible.

          His multi-lingual father spoke Cherokee, English, and Spanish. We have copies of Great-grandpa Walter’s writing in Cherokee and English.

          Grandpa insisted I would go to a “teachers college” and earn a degree. He usually cited the examples of his Aunt Jo and Aunt Lizzie. He was proud of his nieces, Elizabeth Purcell Hammer and Fern Purcell Anders, who were also educators earning their degrees on the beautiful campus of Northeastern State University at Tahlequah on the original site of the Cherokee National Women’s Seminary. 

          At the time, I would not consider education as a possible career since I observed students daily who seemed to have little desire to learn from the dedicated teachers. Never would I let Grandpa know, but I thought I was headed for a career in the medical field. I did not want to disappoint him.

          Maybe Grandpa watched me play “school” with Angie when she was only three years old. She focused so well that I could teach her much more than she supposedly was old enough to master.

          As a retired career teacher, I did fulfill Grandpa’s goal for me. Job asked in Job 12:12: Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?

                May we be willing to share our experience with those younger - not imposing our opinion but listening and observing the younger ones with whom we are interacting. This activity is not instantaneous but requires time, patience, and building of a relationship, earning the right to be heard before sharing. Happy influencing for a lifetime in someone you love!

  *To learn more about my great grandfather and his family, go to this link  https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2016/05/its-more-than-first-holiday-of-summer.html

Strength and Courage in the Face of Fear

The earliest photograph of Rosa Jarrell
 Rainey that I have seen.
  from my grandmother, Gladys Rainey
Smith's photograph album.

March is Women’s History Month. It is my hope that family stories of courage, strength, and perseverance amidst fear-filled, dangerous situations will propel us through our own 21st century storms and difficulties—especially those about the women from whom we descend. What a perfect time to honor Rosa Jarrell Rainey with a retelling of her courage and faith since we marked the 155^th anniversary of her birth on March 7!

Crossing the Red River

                In the last half of the 19^th century, rail travel was among the fastest modes of transportation. This booming industry could hardly construct railways quickly enough to meet the outcry for connecting the United States and its territories. The Chicago, Rock Island, and Pacific Railroad Company had begun construction of the railroad in the Chickasaw Nation in 1892.** They laid the tracks alongside the old Chisholm Trail that had been used by the cowpunchers for so many years during the cattle drives that culminated in Abilene, Kansas.

                William Marion Rainey and Thomas J. Rainey, his father, joined the force of sturdy, strong men laying the rails in Texas. William had married Rosa Jarrell Rainey in Bloomfield, Missouri, on December 19, 1889. While my great-grandfather and my great-great grandfather were working in Texas, Rosa, my great-grandmother, stayed busy cooking for the hardworking men on their crew. Amidst all the rigorous demands on this young couple, their first baby was born in Texas on September 30, 1893. They named her Daisy Dean.

                Then Bill Rainey, as so often happens today in the 21^st century, followed the job opportunities. He crossed the Red River into Indian Territory, leaving his wife and baby daughter behind in Texas. In 1894, Rosa, pregnant with her second child, clutching Baby Daisy in her arms, crossed the Red River in a wagon. I recall my grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, telling me of her mother conveying vividly how challenging and frightening this ordeal was for her.

                What a brave 26-year-old she was! She most likely crossed at the traditional ford of the Chisholm Trail near Terral, Oklahoma. The National Weather Service’s hydrograph of the Red River near Terral shows a range from a low of 6 feet to 22 feet at flood stage for this crossing.

This marker was placed to mark the crossing by the

  Historical Society of Fleetwood
    Terral, Indian Territory (Oklahoma)    

              I think of the courage of my great-grandmother, reins in hand, traveling with her precious little baby. As she approached the Red River, tension gripped her muscles. The burden of responsibility for her baby girl, the team of horses, the wagon containing all their worldly goods, and her unborn child weighed heavily upon her. Rosa tried to steel herself to her worries and anxiety, hummed nervously a lullaby to Baby Daisy Dean, and plunged the team of horses pulling the wagon into the murky water. What relief she must have felt as the strong steeds pulled the wagon with all her family’s belongings onto the Indian Territory side of the riverbank!

               On December 10, later in the year, Rosa gave birth to Lewis Elbert Rainey, her first son, in Terral, Indian Territory. The newly formed railroad town was only a couple of years old. According to my grandmother’s personal, handwritten family records, it was while Rosa and Bill were living in Terral that the two of them were converted and then baptized by Reverend Parker.

              In light of this information, my heart goes out to that frightened, young ancestor of mine, who had not yet experienced the peace that Jesus brings when our lives are committed to him. Great-grandma Rosa didn’t yet have a relationship with the heavenly Father to whom she could pray and ask for strength and safety as she forded the Red River with tiny Daisy. Possibly the paralyzing anxiety and debilitating helplessness she experienced as the horses splashed through the muddy water, straining to draw the heavy wagon onto the dry ground caused Great-grandma Rosa to begin to realize she needed strength beyond her own ability. Later when she heard Reverend Parker’s sermon in July of 1896, she and my great-grandpa responded to God’s work in their hearts. 

            It is my prayer that those of us who descend from this couple will be sensitive to God’s quiet work in our lives and affirm our need, commit our lives to Jesus, and then follow Him daily. From the many stories my mother has told of her dearly loved Grandma Rainey and her faith, I am reminded of the words John the Apostle wrote in his third letter, verse four. These would convey her desire for those of us who descended from her.

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.

*    http://www.blogoklahoma.us/place.aspx?id=608

**  http://digital.library.okstate.edu/encyclopedia/entries/J/JE002.html

The Three-Year-Old Political Activist

 Every generation has an obligation to vote their conscience after contemplating the results of not participating in a right so few in the world have. If you have an aversion to political discussions, I must warn you to not read further.

My Earliest Memory of Being a Political Activist

           This blog originated to share family stories, but unusual memories emerge from recessed compartments of one’s mind. One such recollection resurfaced prompting me to revisit the blog topic of this posting.

My sister characterized my younger years as always being driven by “a cause.” I thought it stemmed from the influences of the 1960s when I was a formative child and preteen. Music touched my core being from my earliest days, so hearing “If I Had a Hammer” or “Okie from Muskogee” or so many other ballads and cause-born songs must have been an impacting factor. Even Kurt Kaiser’s “Pass It On” that was sung by every church youth group in the 1970s, supported the idea I embraced of purposefully being an agent for positive change.

Never do I remember not knowing about the two major political parties of the United States. My paternal grandfather, Edmund Gates, Sr., was a staunch Republican, a devout follower of the party of Lincoln. He was worried about the national debt before most people even knew it existed! Yet as my aunt, Mamie Marie Gates Tice, stated often, “Papa was a man of principles.” On the opposite spectrum, my maternal grandpa was the precinct registrar and a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. Yet I heard my parents say that both of their fathers had voted for a candidate of a party with whom they were not affiliated because of the candidate’s track record or the platform on which he campaigned aligned more with their personal beliefs.

Yet as I have contemplated the state question on Oklahoma’s ballot, a retrospection prompted a memory from April of 1959. I do not have the retention of a savant to recall with precise accuracy dates, but I did remember the account with my grandparents. Then to verify the correctness of my recollection, I corroborated the date with state history.

The day was either nearly spent or cloudy. Whether precipitated by the time of day or the weather, in my little almost-three-year-old mind, it felt ominous or foreboding. Perhaps the mission upon which my grandparents embarked lent to that atmosphere in the cab of Grandpa Calvin Callcayah Smith’s pickup. Always ready to go when a pickup left the farm, I was nestled between him and Grandma Gladys. She was the mastermind behind this fact-finding endeavor.

Calvin Callcayah and Gladys Rainey Smith with me standing between them.
Coincidentally, the photo of Willian Buckley, the husband of Emma Rainey
Buckley is on the piano just above my head. To read about the photo go to:
https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-theater-manager-who-married-rainey.html

Even though I was not quite three years old, my ears were always alert to whatever was happening with the four adults in our home. I knew Grandma was known as a radical or fanatic as a Christian. She tenaciously pursued people for the Lord. I had heard her talk of an older man, an alcoholic, who had bragged to Grandma about his “setting the bottle” before his sons. Each of his boys eventually became alcoholics, too. Then she told of how he turned to Jesus and away from his alcohol. The sorrowful, elderly man questioned her tearfully about why his sons turned a deaf ear to his request to follow him in embracing a commitment to Jesus. I knew she had witnessed boldly to moonshiners and other purveyors of intoxicating beverages that she met.

Oklahoma was voting that spring about introducing a more openness to selling alcohol in the state’s marketplace because the state needed the supposed massive amount of tax revenue that was being missed. My family disagreed with that state question. Grandma always put action to her beliefs.

As a member of the Masham Baptist Church, she and Grandpa had the blessing and support of the congregation to secure a billboard sign opposing this measure. With the help of members who were landowners on Highway 18, she had secured permission from one of the landowners to post the sign on their land. They had selected the most optimal place to position the sign to impact the most travelers on the state highway. The billboard had been erected to secure it no matter what spring weather might occur. Those committed farmers knew how do something like this.

What a shock to receive the phone call that the large sign had vanished! Evidently, the depiction of a passed-out person with the huge words emblazoned above the graphic, “The End Result of the Brewer’s Art,” registered too descriptive for someone. But who had moved such a bulky billboard? To locate the missing campaign message board was our mission – even though I was a less-than-three-year-old little girl.

In those days, our best communication was a party line. With a few calls and a few visits, it was determined the local county shop was the resting place of the sign that appeared to have vanished. Thankfully, I don’t recall who had been responsible for removing the campaign sign from private property.

Perhaps this early experience scripted me to continue to be an activist for what I believe strongly – maybe not as “out- there” as Grandma. If we are followers of Jesus and the Bible, we must search our hearts, asking what we believe about the principles that are important to ensure a state and nation that will honor the Creator that endowed us with the rights of life and liberty. Above all, we must choose. Not voting asserts that the non-voter will acquiesce and agree with whomever and condone whatever the majority of the electorate decides.

Anyone that knows me very well also knows in this way I am like Grandma Gladys - I will hold to my Biblically- based principles and Christian world view over economic gain or over public opinion. But as my father, Edmund Gates, Jr. would often say, he "fought for your right to your belief." Of course, I better close with my wise and seasoned 98-year-old mother's belief that one's vote should be cast, especially on a state question, based on the outcome “down the road” for the safety and well-being of our state citizens, especially our youngest, most vulnerable ones. She and I have discussed our observation from Oklahoma history. No legalization of "vises" to pursue taxes from them have been the end-all answer for our state's financial concerns.

You may disagree. We each are guaranteed by our constitution this right to express our beliefs. This right of free speech is uniquely an American right and privilege. Let's respect that in each other. So no matter if we differ sharply; hopefully, we can disagree agreeably.