Plowing Through and Withstanding Difficult Moments

This week's writing prompt is 'plowing through' and I hate how literal this post will be. It tells one of the more tragic stories that has been passed down in my family and it fits this prompt both literally and figuratively.

Job 14:1 says that "man who is born of a woman is few of days and full of trouble" and the latter part of verse 2 Chapter 7 in Ecclesiastes reminds us that "death is the destiny of every man and the living should take it to heart." I somehow wonder if theses two verses with a multitude of others, were a form of steadiness for my great-grandparents. It's where they would find their fortitude to stand back up once knocked down, and their focus on where they were headed - their strength to keep moving."

They did not live their lives with grand delusions of fanciness and easy living. You see my great-grandparents grew up in a hard part of the country, in a hard time in history. Their resolve would be tested and their character defined as they would constantly endure hardship and would have to find something in them to keep moving forward, plowing through each difficult circumstance until they could find their feet on solid ground. They were born and raised in a newly 'tamed' Texas and came into adult-hood in the midst of The Great Depression.

My great-grandmother, Willie Belle Foster, was one of the younger of eleven children born to James and Isabelle (Athey) Foster. She was born in 1915 near Simms, Texas. Her father was a sharecropper, growing cotton and maze and her mother was a trusted midwife who delivered babies all around the countryside, including my grandfather, Charles.

My great-grandfather, Benjamin Rufus Nall, was the youngest son born to John Thomas and Ophelia (Rich) Nall. He was born in 1908 in Collin County, Texas. His father had previously owned acreage near Farmersville, but traded it for a milk cow and moved to Chalk, where he and Ophelia pulled cotton boles.

By the late 1920's both the Nalls and the Fosters had settled around Crowell, Texas, and it just so happened that Rufus and Wille Belle both attended a singing at the little church at Chalk, TX. This was where the two first met. They would go on to get married December 12th 1933 in an auto garage in Crowell. Immediately following the ceremony they would go to the Foster's home to help kill 22 hogs, then ride 30 miles horseback to Rufus' parents' home where they settled in one of the 2 rooms in that house, that had previously stored piles of cotton boles. {Nothing like the beautiful bridezilla weddings and honeymoons of today}

These were hard times for a young family just starting out. Most of their young adult lives would be spent with a set jaw, weary soul, and a determined spirit to plow through and keep moving.

By 1938, with two children already born, Charles and *Dena,  this young family lived in a tent, coated with tar, for water-proofing, while Rufus worked as a farm hand tending cattle and goats. He also cut cord wood for extra income. Their third child, Bo, was born in that tent. Times were so lean by this point that Willie Belle had problems having enough milk to feed baby Bo, so Rufus' boss, Duff Vance, generously gave them a Brahma cow that had lost it's calf, under the condition that Rufus was able to even catch her. Being desperate, and I like to think, a talented cowboy of the west, he succeeded. She even became docile enough to become quite a good milk cow that provided enough milk to share with neighbors.

In 1941, with another addition to the family, baby George, they decided to move back west, hoping with the greatest of expectations to do more than barely scrape by. Rufus became a sharecropper on the Homer T Melton farm (8 miles west of Benjamin) and when he wasn't growing and harvesting crops he worked as a cowhand at the McFadden Ranch from sun-up to sun-down for $6 a day.

While living on this farm the 3 youngest babies were born:  Larry Alden, his twin Wilma Jean (who didn't survive the day) and in 1945 the baby of the family, named after his daddy, Rufus Leon.

Things were finally starting to look up economically across the country and, in turn, for this little family. So much so that Rufus was able to afford a Red-bone hound that came all the way from Kentucky. They named him Old Jim and he helped Rufus hunt as he trapped coons, skunks, bobcats, lynx and anything else with a hide that could be sold.

Then, tragically, this family would be dealt the hardest blow of their life. The 25th of June, 1949, would start like many other days that summer, without incident. Willie Belle and the four older children, ages 14, 12, 10 and 8 had all gone to chop cotton about 20 miles away. Rufus and the two younger boys, Larry and Leon stayed at home as he had wheat stubble to plow. Like all children, especially young boys, they wanted to ride that Farmall H tractor with their Daddy, and after some begging, Rufus gave in and told them they could ride for just one round on the draw bar. As they rode, Leon was either pulled off by grabbing Johnson grass heads as they passed over them, or by reaching for his little straw had which blew off in that hot Texas wind. He fell under the one-way disc plow and was more than likely killed instantly. Rufus in a sick panic, grabbed his baby boy and clutched him close as he ran to the house and carefully laid his lifeless body on the bed. He had no transportation or phone, so he hysterically ran to the highway to flag for help. Several passed by before someone finally stopped. But needless to say, poor Leon had already passed on.

The Hamlin Herald 8 July 1949, Friday.

I had always been told that Grandpa Rufus was a preacher. They say he preached some as a young man, but had fallen away. It's funny how tragedy can work one of two ways. It can either drive a wedge between you and God or can bring you closer. I'm thankful that it was the latter in the case of my grandfather. After this incident he began preaching again and did so for many years afterwards. Rufus confided in some that he felt like Leon's death was punishment for being disobedient and not preaching for all those years in between. I'm not so sure I believe that's how God operates, but I won't pretend to know what goes on between a man and God. And the story behind the death of the child belonging to David and Bathsheba does give Rufus' belief some credit, I suppose. Either way I can't imagine the burden he must've carried from that day on. I'm sure it was under the shield of grace from his savior that he was able to bear it at all.  And my poor sweet grandmother, Willie Belle, how her heart must've broken and bled. She lost her baby boy and was she angry with Rufus? Did their marriage struggle? I mean no disrespect in asking that question, only that I want to make sure we understand the way a tragedy of this nature has the ability to reach into every crevice of your life and linger there, for years. I am certain the only way they overcame any of it was because of their deep rooted faith.

Now, I didn't know my Grandpa Rufus very well, as he died when I was only four. But I knew my Grandma Willie Belle quite well, or as well as a child possibly could. She was quiet, and kind, and as firm as a person could possibly be in her faith. She would often quote Matthew 5:45 saying that the Lord would send rain to the just and the unjust. She didn't question. She just believed in the Lord and what He would will to be. She trusted Him, completely. She was content in her life and accepted it with a humble gratitude that feels nearly impossible to achieve. When she passed away, the preacher, Brother Glen, spoke of the virtuous woman in Proverbs 31, and she was. In every. single. way. I admire her more and more the older I get.

I would love to leave you the verse that was preached on at her funeral service. It was Isaiah 40:31 and says "but those who wait on the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." She had spoken with the pastor in her last few days about how this verse was her source of strength during her most difficult days. I pray that it will linger in your soul, should you ever experience a time in your life where you don't have the strength to plow through. And I hope it will guide you to the place my grandparents found theirs....



Until next week,
Becky


*My sincerest gratitude goes to my Great-Aunt Dena for her commitment in preserving and passing down our family history. It is because of her that much of this story, with all the details, can even be told.