Holy Cottonwood Tree and He Dog School--When You Can't Win

Recently an elderly friend named Gary who heard that we had returned from a trip helping on the reservation in Mission, South Dakota, let us know that he had actually grown up only a block or two away from this same mission!

He grew up, he said, attending the school at the Catholic church where he was made fun of by the white students for being half Indian, and pested by the Indians because he was half white. 

(I took pictures of the Catholic church a few weeks ago when we were up there again.

 A priest was coming out the door and asked me if he could help me. I explained about our friend Gary and said I was taking pictures of the church where Gary had grown up. The priest invited me to go inside, but I didn't take the time. I just asked about the Holy Cottonwood Tree that Gary had talked about.  Gary thought the tree was still there, but it wasn't.)

Gary told Jonathan about how one day another boy student and he got into a bit of a fight, and all of a sudden, something that felt like a semi-truck hit him, and he was on the ground.

The other boy's big sister had barreled into him and knocked him flat! He scrambled up and the only thing he knew to do was to run to that Holy Cottonwood tree and climb it as fast as he could!

Well, that girl could climb, too, and the only thing that saved Gary was that he was up in the tree first and could tramp on her hand as she tried to get up to the branch he was on!

The trouble was that when the nun(s) came out and discovered him in the tree, boy, was he in trouble! 

That was the Holy Cottonwood Tree!

I had to stop and snap a picture of this sign on the reservation, "He Dog School."

I enjoy seeing the interesting names of our beautiful native American people and the names of their towns, schools, and other things. 

As a young boy, part white and part Indian ( as they were called at that time), Gary couldn't win. 

Gary got mixed up with alcohol, and his life was sad.  

Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we find ourselves between a rock and a hard place, 

and there is nowhere to go and no way to win. 

If you don't apologize, you lose.
If you do apologize, you did it wrong, and anyway, you still were wrong before you apologized and are still wrong afterward.

If you speak up, you're wrong; if you remain silent, you're wrong. 

If you do A, you should have done B; and if you do B, there is always a C or a D.

You can't win. And there are always people who make sure of it. 

Even religious people. 

Gary found out. He lived in a church culture that could never win. And they showed it on their face.

They were somber and sad, while at an evangelical church Gary noticed smiling faces. 

He liked the smiles. 

So Gary made a decision.

He decided, he said, that if he was going to go to hell, he was going to go smiling! He left his old church and began attending the evangelical church, giving his heart to Christ--who put a genuine smile on his face and a beautiful heart to help!

He left behind his life of drink and sin and sadness, and now his face is wreathed in smiles!  

In Christ, he has finally won!

Antique Wagon Repair--and the Simple Act of Remembering--Together

My friend Luellen paused in the middle of our weeding along the stone path through her front flower garden late this morning.

"I'm going to take a break now," she said. "I am going to take flowers to the cemetery. It's where my first husband is buried. Would you like to come along?" 

Suddenly, I realized it was Memorial Day weekend. I had never taken flowers to a grave before.

"I'd love to!" I said. "I love cemeteries! I know I'm kind of weird..."

But weird or not, Luellen was tickled. 

She went into the house to retrieve her bag of flowers while I picked up my gallon ziploc baggie of fresh lambs quarters "weeds" we had saved while weeding in her flower garden.

"I like to munch lambs quarters," Luellen had told me, and she offered me a plant.

I tried it. 

Not too bad! I decided to save some and add to our borsch or stir fried rice.   

On our way to her car to go to the cemetery, I snapped a photo of Timmy working there. 

Duane fell a couple years ago and hasn't fully recuperated. He can barely hobble around, though he gets around in a dandy way on his gator, today with Timmy riding around beside him! 

I had gone along with Timmy to Duane and Luellen's ranch this morning, because Duane wanted Timmy to bring his own milled lumber to repair an antique wagon they had, 

and they also wanted to buy one of my books.)  

Luellen and I got into her old red car and drove about two miles down the dirt road to Antioch Cemetery, out in the middle of the prairie. 

Luellen began pulling the tumbleweed starts in front of her first husband's grave and telling me about him. She and he were dreaming of starting a farm and were studying agriculture, when one day about age 50, he was out with the baby peacocks they were raising, and she called to him. He seemed to be on his side looking under a wagon for the peacock chicks, but he did not respond. He had had a heart attack, and could not be revived.

 Luellen told me how some years later, Duane and she, both teachers in the area, met, and they dated for a while and married.

Now today, as I helped her pull out the old, faded flowers she had placed there last year, and then poke the stems of the new red, white, and blue flowers into the ground, she told me that she usually likes to  pray at the gravestone.

I told her I would love to join her. With our arms around each other, she prayed a simple prayer, thanking the Lord for all the years He had given her with her first husband, and then thanking Him

for bringing Duane into her life. Then she thanked God that someday soon we will all be together in Heaven.

She did not have to be alone at that grave site this time.  

Someone valued the simple act of remembering.

I noted how many gravestones there had windmills engraved on them. 

"Windmills were our source of water for so many years," Luellen observed. 

It is no wonder windmills were engraved on gravestones--a western symbol of eternal life.

We chuckled over the name that is pronounced like "geek."

She said there were many Giecks in the area. 

Luellen knew several of the people buried there, and briefly told me their stories.

I love the stories behind people's names.

Every one of them is valuable to God. 

Just like Duane and Luellen.

This elderly couple started befriending us a few years ago when we dropped into the remodeled barn where an evangelical fellowship was meeting for worship. Duane and Luellen are country people who like traditional music, God's Word, and both love to pray for and support the persecuted Christians. 

And they value history and the stories of those who have gone before.

(I wondered if this Berg was any relation to my maternal German grandmother, who was Anne Lois Berg before she married a Morgan of Welsh ancestry.) Luellen said there were many buried there who died from the Spanish Influenza in 1918. In fact, she took me a few miles down the road to see Antioch Community Church which used to be Tructon Schoolhouse, built in 1916. Only a couple years after it was built, it was turned into a temporary hospital for Spanish Flu victims. 

 Hospital equipment was trucked out and three nurses were stationed there. It was a very sad year in the area, saddened by World War I besides the deaths from Spanish influenza.

 Now a small group meets here on Sundays.

So much rich history here.

Luellen told me how school children many years ago planted these trees out front, and carried water in buckets out to water them. 

Duane was entranced with something I had written in my last newsletter, about the "Farm" venue for the ladies retreat in South Dakota, run by a grandfather of German Russian ancestry. 

"I wonder if I am related to this grandfather," Duane told me. "I also was raised in southeastern South Dakota, in a Mennonite family of German Russian ancestry."

In fact, today Duane showed me a circle on a map of Ukraine, the area where his ancestors grew up.

Duane's family moved down here where other friends had been homesteading near Vona, CO.  Men folks had come and staked claims about the time of the Homestead Act, but by the time they brought their families back from South Dakota area, other people had taken the homesteads. So they settled elsewhere in the area. 

Duane loaned me a book that the Tructon Ladies' Society put together about the history of the Tructon area where Esareys live--about 45 minutes from us.

It means a lot to Duane and Luellen to have someone value their ancestry. He and a few others try to keep a church up a couple hours away, that used to be Mennonite, but no one worships there anymore, just some of the relatives get together every once in a while to have a service--something like Egg Hill Church that my brother Gabriel's church has a service in once a year in Pennsylvania.

 Duane gave his heart to Jesus at 5 or 6 years old in the upstairs Sunday School room of that old church near Vona.

  I told Duane I'd love for our family to join them sometime at that church, maybe bring some music.

We'll see.

Until then, it is just pleasant to remember--together.

Grandpa Lucas's 85th Birthday!

A week or so ago, we took in supper for Jonathan's father's 85th birthday. 

While waiting for everyone to arrive, Timmy dug up an old bush in the front yard and planted a new flowering plant that Grandpa and ma had purchased.

At 85, Grandpa is still mowing his own yard, and taking care of most things around his place. Just a few little things are too much for him, and his birthday was a chance to help a little. Sam fixed something for a drain, and Danny dug some planters out of storage for Grandma.

The children took turns churning homemade icecream.  

I asked Crystal to choose a card for Grandpa in town, and she chose a lovely one with a lighthouse, so then I decided to go with seafood for a gift, to go along with the lighthouse. He likes dried salmon, so we got that, and a package of shrimp and sauce (at BOGO so we took the free one to add in to supper!) and a salmon dip, and crackers. I often go with edibles for gifts because they are trying to get rid of stuff! 

Back for Mama Lucas's birthday in February, I wrote a poem about her and for her, and figured while I was at it, I would write one about Daddy, too. I ran them by Jonathan's brother Dave and Ruth who offered several more suggestions to add in, and so here is the finished product.

   Grandpa on His Eighty-fifth Birthday

Grandpa is almost Anything.

First his parents named him John Ingling.

But to us, he's "Daddy;" he's that times five,

And he's "Grandpa," to fifteen grands alive!

And "Great-grand" now, with wee Greyson.

He's also Uncle and brother and son.

He was "Jersey Farm Boy" out milking the cows

And helping on the farm and in the hay mows.

He's happy, though, to leave all the farm work behind,

Though icecream is never very far from his mind !

At school in his youth, he was the county Spelling Champ,

Almost went to state level, did our notable Gramp.

He became "Meter-reader" whether cloudy or clear,

In Colorado Springs for thirty long years.

He was "Printer," at the print shop on Cucharras Street,

A better printer could hardly be beat.

Say "Painter," and "Fixer-upper of homes,"

And that was Grandpa with thirty rentals he owned.

He got his whole family, the big and the small,

Carrying out trash and painting the walls.

Say "Greenhouse Builder," and that was our dad,

Building right against the house walls that he had.

Say "Gardener" and he rototilled

And built up the garden with gravel and silt.

Say "Skunk-Catcher" and he''ll have a story right there.

Say "Fence-Fixer." He kept out the deer and the bear.

"Rock Hound" is another name that he wore,

As he traveled about picking up" just one more,"

Giant slabs of marble and amethysts amazed,

And specimens of agate filled his gaze.

Say "Traveler" and he's been to fifty states and back

Besides riding airplanes and comfy Amtrak.

He's traveled to Switzerland and far-off Ukraine,

He's been to Russia and flew home again.

He's been to Alaska, and Canada, and

Countless places around Colorado land.

Say "Hiker" and he's been on many a trail,

Say "Camper" for he's camped on mountain and vale.

Just say "Photographer" and then have a look

At all of his photo albums in every house nook.

He loved old covered bridges and every waterfall,

And every old lighthouse, the great and the small.

Pictures of wildflowers on steep mountainsides,

And any scene of nature in God's world so wide.

"Church Treasurer" was another title of his,

At figuring up numbers, Granddad was a whiz!

All the church figures and books he kept straight,

Even when it meant staying up a bit late.

He has many names and has worn many hats,

And this poem's just a reflection on that,

But better than the name he got from his mother

Is one he got when he became "Christian brother,"

The name that he got when Christ's yoke he took,

The name that is written in a heavenly book.

Yes, Dad, and Granddad, and John Ingling.

This Dad is just about Anything!

 

Through Hail and Blossoms--A Smile Remembered 35 Years Later!

Some days are blessed with moments of joy and grace,

like the moment one day after stopping at our bank,

 when I took time to snap a few pictures of the beautiful crabapple blossoms nearby--and the visiting bees.

Other days we watch a storm approach, and are surprised with hail. 

So are the animals who, in the darkness in the middle of the day, scamper for cover!

The puppies hurry inside, wondering what was falling from the sky!

Some days we watch hail collect in the yard, and count tragedies and disasters and losses.

Other days we count our blessings.

Blessings such as moments like today when I slit open an envelope from the mail that contains a book order from Ohio. A lady who receives our newsletters wrote, "Your monthly newsletters are received with anticipation and joy. God has blessed you with the ability to communicate His important values in a relatable style. Looking forward to that in your book also.

 

  "You attended an EBM [Evangelical Bible Mission] service in Summerfield, FL, in 1986 where I briefly spoke about Montezuma schools in AZ. You sat with your mother near the center front of the tabernacle on a hot afternoon with a beaming smile on your radiant face the whole time. I've never forgotten you or the encouragement a genuine smile can give. Thank you...."

 

I did my math. 

1986.

That was thirty-five years ago. 

To think that a smile was remembered from 35 years ago!

I am not putting this in my post so that people will think "Wow!" about some girl's smile way back when.

I am putting this in to remind you about your smile. 

Every one of us has a beautiful smile that lights up our whole face. 

Do we let our light shine, or hide it under a bushel of woe, worry, and walls?

No preaching. 

Just a thought. 

 

Rhubarb Meringue Pie--and How Is That Related to the Obedience of Baptism?

Last week we had not only rhubarb from our own patch, but some that a friend had given us as well! I   made several rhubarb meringue pies, two of which we either shared at Grandpa's birthday party or gave away to a bereaved family who were struggling through an estate sale.

 I tried a recipe that I found in a cookbook that was given me by an old friend, the wife of Pastor Jack Benninger of Zion Wesleyan Methodist Church.

This was the pastor who was willing to baptize my husband, who had never been baptized since his old church never practiced baptism. 

The church had rules about everything from number of eyelets a woman's shoe must have (at least four so that it could be modest enough and cover her foot well enough)

and what color her hose could be (black or white)

to what kind of watch a man was allowed (only pocket watches)

and what color of hat he was allowed to wear (no bright colors. A young man got into trouble for wearing a bright yellow hat to school.)

Yet they may not be baptized--a clearly written command in New Testament Scripture--because that is what the Baptists do.

 My husband decided that he would obey the command of Christ rather than the command of man, and one Saturday evening, on our first anniversary, he was dunked in the cold water of an Allegheny Wesleyan Methodist Church baptistry in New Castle, PA, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit--

after the pastor made the mistake of saying, "I baptize thee, Jonathan Paul Yates--"

and had to be duly corrected!

Nevertheless, Jonathan was successfully baptized.

Our own children have been baptized by twos and threes. 

The three oldest were baptized in a lake by a God's Missionary Church pastor (Wesleyan Methodist beliefs) who was concerned about actually obeying the Scripture and teaching about it. On the lake shore as well stood several grandparents from Jonathan's old church who had claimed to be saved and sanctified for decades. It was a humbling experience for those who had made such high claims yet had  never obeyed the first command of the gospel after the command to repent and believe in Christ.

 Two others of our children were baptized in a water-filled trough at a Baptist church. The elderly pastor of the nearby Cowboy Church where Crystal's graduation service was held was having a baptismal service in the winter. 

With only rare opportunities for baptism in a Wesleyan Methodist background church,

our girls decided they wanted to be baptized in the trough!

The Baptist pastor, the evening beforehand, with us parents present, made sure our girls understood the meaning of the gospel and that they had truly repented and believed in Christ. 

Then our last two boys were baptized in our own muddy pond--after giving up on being baptized by someone we had asked who did not follow through. A licensed church elder, dear old Ward French, hardly able to hobble out in the mud,

went out into the pond with a cane, supported by Jonathan, and baptized our two boys.

Obeying Christ in the matter of baptism is not easy, even in conservative, evangelical churches that claim to believe and obey the gospel.

But when is obeying Christ easy?

It usually results in going against not just the world, the flesh, and the devil, but often against church establishment which contains huge focuses on the commands of man or else on social relationships, and on keeping the status quo while ignoring the clear commands of Christ Himself in the New Testament. 

We have learned to have friends among many kinds of churches--not just the Wesleyan Methodist heritage which have been a part of our lives--but also the Mennonites, Baptists, Presbyterians, Apostolic Christians, and people who have been so burnt on church (or have such high ideals) that they can't attend anywhere.

Jonathan and I were impressed a few years ago when the pastor of a church we decided to check out

prayed for the churches right around his church. There was a Nazarene group meeting in a house next door to this fellowship, a Lutheran group meeting on the other property, and another church meeting nearby as well. 

Jonathan and I had never heard a pastor pray for the churches on all sides of our church before.

Those other churches out there were ones to be avoided, made fun of, and preached against.

Whoever heard of humbly praying for them all by name during church service?

If you haven't, you are not alone. We had never heard that happen before either.

And no one left this pastor's church group to join the other, either, just because the pastor humbly acknowledged the other churches as existing, fellow churches.

He simply prayed that they also would proclaim the gospel as written in God's Word.

And then that pastor preached God's Word--straight through one book after another--

not leaving out the portions he knew would offend somebody like Jonathan once 

was told,

"I can't read those certain Scriptures, because these certain people would be offended,"

or in words to that effect.

Instead, this preacher taught from one of Paul's epistles and then from Malachi.

Shaking and trembling, he preached from Malachi about what God thinks of divorce, for example. 

And to my knowledge, no one, including the divorced and remarried in the church, left the church over that. 

Instead, people started coming to that church more and more. 

The pastor still preaches through God's Word, and the church is burgeoning. 

Amazing!

When Someone Thinks Your Prayer List Is Important

 Several weeks ago, after being at Arms Around the World Convention, I received the following note in the mail, along with a very worn, large-size index card.

"Hello! We found this piece of paper in the apartment where you folks stayed during the AAW convention. While we were cleaning we found it on the love seat. It seemed it was important enough to send to you."

I recognized the worn out card to be my prayer list. 

I felt the kind of thing forming in my throat that happens when you are about to cry.

 

And maybe other people don't do things like this, but I went to my bedroom window and held that "important enough" card in my hand by the window. 

"Is this card important to You?"  I asked my heavenly Father.

And I didn't have to hear an audible voice for the answer. 

I knew without a voice. 

Every name on that card is important to Him. 

The little note sent from a cleaning lady reminded me of that.

When You Are Caught Praying

A few days ago after supper, our family was caught praying around this table--

minus the tomato plants, eggs, rhubarb, and pan of fresh milk. 

 Timmy was outdoors showing a customer his old truck that he was hoping to sell

while the rest of us were finishing supper and having family worship around the table.

In the middle of prayer time, we heard the front door open, and Timmy's voice saying, "Yep! Straight ahead over there!"

And when I opened my eyes, I saw a man in the middle of the living room suddenly hesitating in his onward trek to the powder room!

The man made the quick decision to just move on ahead to the powder room, and I made the decision to shut my eyes again.
Crystal made the decision to simply go on praying. 

She was still praying when the man went through our living room all over again. 

I wondered what he thought of catching a family praying around the table.

 

Crystal finished prayer time, and the man bought the truck. 

Around our table, you can catch us doing a lot of things--eating together as a family, playing games, talking about upcoming plans, laughing, doing school, sewing, doing crafts, and even grumping and trying to figure out how to get certain people to contribute to cleaning up the messes around here. 

(That's mostly on Mom's part, since nearly everyone else doesn't understand what is the big deal.)

But I can't really imagine anything I'd rather be caught doing around the table than praying. 

It would be the best thing to be doing when Jesus comes back--

or when you are in trouble--

or when you just need to debrief to Someone Who cares--

or when your heart is heavy as you look at what is unfolding in the world around you--

or when you are tempted to be bitter at other people.
I still wonder what that man thought when he realized that this family sitting around the table was praying!

When Boys Bring Out the Best in Each Other

When Timmy was back in PA for Penn View Campus Days, he stayed with my brother Gabriel's family, whose youngest little girl fell in love with him!

Elizabeth sent me this picture of her little Elliana falling asleep on Timmy! 

What a "deer" that little girl is!

(This deer is actually one that Timmy took a picture of when he was in western Colorado recently

shed hunting with Hunter Sayler.  

 And if you want to know what "shed hunting" is, it is hunting for the antlers that deer or elk shed.)

Carrie and Sam went over, too.

Whenever Timmy goes over there, he spends time helping Hunter and Mr. Sayler with projects around their place there at Ranch Haven, as they are getting ready for another Youth Camp. 

Below the boys are burning brush.

 Here, Mr. Sayler is spraying one of the new cabins at Ranch Haven.

 

Mrs. Sayler made the remark that Timmy "brings out the best in Hunter."

When the two are together, they have a lot more inspiration to get work done than when they are by themselves!

I was so thankful to hear that my boy was being a good influence, but I really think it went both directions. Hunter is also a good influence on Timmy. They have loads of fun but also work well together. 

 In Norris, SD, several young boys were busy helping their dads and others work on that missionary parsonage.

Above the boys are preparing to paint the deck rails. 

It is so much more fun to work together than all by oneself.  

Though one man did say, "One boy will help all day. Two boys will play all day. And three-well, that is hopeless!"

Well, thankfully the boys did help a lot!

Bringing out the best in one another goes for girls, too. 

At that same Norris parsonage, I watched 11-year-old Cassie Lavery bring out the best in my 11-year-old Hannah. They served meals together, washed dishes, washed the kitchen windows, cleaned out the bugs...

painted a wall in the basement, swept the floor at the end of the day, 

and mopped and scrubbed, while singing!

 

Hannah came home determined to do more on her own!

Cassie, the sweet, helpful daughter of Keith and Tasbah, had brought out the best in my own daughter! 

They made a perfectly beautiful team of helpfulness for Jesus!