Favorite Verse – Brenda Murr
Philippians 4:19 -- "And my God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus."
The following is a personal testimony to prove this promise:
Christmas 1957
I was brought up in the small community of Lennox, Oklahoma. It was right next to the Cherokee reservation. The closest school was a few miles away at Whitesboro, Oklahoma; I was in second grade. I had received Christ and was baptized in the summer of 1957 along with my mother, three of my brothers, and 2 of my sisters. Christmas took on a special meaning that year because of my newfound relationship with Jesus; it felt almost magical.
It was the Friday before Christmas, and the school always had a Christmas program. It was the Christmas Story about Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. We practiced for weeks in advance of the big day. Every kid in school had a part in the program. The prettiest girl in school got to be Mary. Joseph had to be tall; the face didn’t matter because they stuck a beard on it. They always used a bald headed baby doll for the baby Jesus. The older kids were wise men and shepherds. The older girls were angels. The donkey was made out of wood. There was a huge star with a bright light set atop a makeshift stable. All the kids who were not a part of the manger scene were sheep or cherub angels. As the procession began and the actors took their places, we sang “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem.” Then as Mary knelt by the manger we sang,” What Child is This.” The teacher said, ”If you can’t remember the words, just hum.” Toward the end of the third song, “Silent Night,” we sounded more like bees than angels and sheep. Everyone laughed when the three wise men came singing in exaggerated bass voices, “We Three Kings.” One of the wise men tripped on the way up the stairs, then he jerked his robe as though he was angry with it for tripping him. He straightened his crown, stood up straight, and marched on. It was a lot to expect them to carry a staff, and a gift, and balance a crown, while wearing a dress; boys aren’t designed for that. Somehow we made it through the entire program. The principal thanked all the teachers and parents for making the event so successful. Then as we left the stage, every kid had a brown paper bag which contained an apple, an orange, a candy cane, Christmas candy, and a new pencil with an eraser. Daddy told us to take a candy cane and give the bag to our mother. It was late, and we were tired, so we did not argue. As I dozed off to sleep I wondered, “What did Mom do with those bags and all that candy.”
It is amazing how clear the memory is of those days leading up to Christmas. I was unable to sleep, so I took a blanket and curled up on the sofa, close to the fireplace. As the fire was fading and the coals glowed red and black, I heard the muffled voices of my mom and dad. Their bedroom was just off the living room behind where I was sitting. They were talking about Christmas. I listened to their conversation through the wall. Straining to hear, I thought my Mama was crying. I had never seen my mother cry; to me she was tough as nails and always in control. I decided I must be imaging things. No, there it was again, except this time she was moaning like an animal in pain, struggling to catch her breath, then sniffling and blowing her nose. Yeah, she was crying all right, no doubt about it. Christmas was two days away, and there was no money for food, little for presents for the kids. Clinging to each other in the dark, they tried to figure out how they were going to make it through Christmas and the long cold winter. It had been raining for weeks, and Daddy could not haul logs, which was our only income in the winter. Daddy finally fell asleep and Momma prayed. I sneaked back to bed and slipped under the blankets next to my sister, and I prayed for Momma, and Christmas, and Daddy as I fell asleep.
The next morning I heard Daddy stoking the fire, throwing wood on the coals, and making coffee. These were the sounds I woke up to every morning. The sounds of the world coming alive. Soon the rooster would crow, signaling the sun to rise. Then Mom would start cooking breakfast. The aroma of coffee brewing always made me smile. I never remember anyone having to wake me up or an alarm going off; it was just part of the rhythm of the day. When Momma started rattling pans I knew it was time to get up. If we weren’t at the table when she put the food on, we just might not get to eat. I was the sixth of ten children, and meals were a big deal. We had a long table with benches on each side and a chair at each end where Momma and Daddy sat. Mom always served Daddy first, then it was a free for all as we grabbed a plate and started passing them from left to right until they made their way completely around the table. Daddy said a blessing, and we all started to eat. Daddy told my brothers they needed to cut firewood. My older sister Joy would feed the chickens and collect the eggs. My sister Shirley cleared the table and washed the dishes My sister Henryetta and I kept an eye on my younger sister Patricia and my baby brother John Henry while Momma milked the cow, and the others did their chores. I was 7 years old, not tall enough to wash dishes or collect eggs, but sometimes I did throw feed to the chickens. After breakfast, my brothers Charles and Ike took whatever scraps of food that were left and fed the dogs. We always had dogs, unless they ate the chicken eggs, then Daddy made them disappear. Years later I found out he shot them, because my Grandpa said there is nothing worse than an egg sucking dog. But at 7, I just knew they went missing, all except King, my brother Chris’s German shepherd dog. King always stayed close to warn us if someone was coming; he was really good at that. If it was someone he knew, barking was all the warning we needed. If it was a stranger, King would bark and snarl and show his teeth while jumping around to try and scare them off. We called that his stranger dance. King always made me feel safe. He followed us if we left the yard and barked a warning so Momma knew what we were up to. He also hunted squirrels and rabbits with my brother, I surely do like fried squirrel.
As the day moved on, we tidied the house, played in the yard, climbed trees in the orchard, even though momma told us not to. There was always the rhythm of life playing in the background: the wind, the sun, the sounds of animals, trees rustling in the wind, people talking, the stuff of life. Tomorrow was Christmas, and I felt sad remembering my mother crying. I reminded myself not to mention Christmas so Momma wouldn’t feel sad.
Daddy had left early in the morning. We hardly noticed he was missing. We heard his truck coming up the road. On the back of the flatbed truck, he had a cedar tree. Daddy called to my brother Charles to help him unload the tree. Daddy went to the barn and got a couple of 2X4 boards and nailed them to the trunk of the tree. He and my brothers carried the tree into the house. Momma moved the chairs, and they placed the tree right in front of the windows. Daddy said, ”I did my part, now it is up to you to make it look like a Christmas tree.”
Momma popped some popcorn. We went into the woods behind the house and picked up pinecones that were lying on the ground. Momma opened up her sewing trunk and brought out some colored ribbons. There wasn’t enough ribbon for all the pinecones, so Momma took out a colorful skirt that she said didn’t fit her anymore. We cut strips of cloth and tied them to the other pinecones to make ornaments. My sister Shirley cut strips of newspaper. My older sister Joy mixed together some flour and water and made paste. They rolled the paper strips and glued the ends, interlocking the pieces to make a chain. As we watched, the garland grew longer and longer. Mom had saved some Christmas lights from previous Christmases, and ornaments, handmade and collectibles, to add to the tree. My sister Henryetta and I were allowed to string popcorn. Stringing some and then eating some, always followed by a giggle and a smile. The tree was large, so even with all our work the decorations were not enough. Momma tied strings to the handles of teacups and hung them on the tree where there were the biggest blank spots. We were almost finished; all we needed was a star for the top of the tree. My brother William cut a star out of cardboard and covered it with aluminum foil; he ran wire through it and attached a jar to the back; the jar slipped snugly over the top of the tree. It was already dark when we finished. Momma made some cornbread to eat with the beans that had been cooking on the stove. We ate beans and cornbread and gave thanks for a beautiful Christmas tree, food to eat, a warm house, and family. Tomorrow was Christmas; my heart ached knowing there would be no presents under the tree, but we surely had a beautiful Christmas tree. As I closed my eyes that night, I felt such a mixture of joy and sadness, not realizing that is life. Enough sadness to drown you, but enough joy to make you float. Life is a balancing act, and it requires faith to ride the currents until you reach a safe harbor. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the waves washing me along.
I woke up early Christmas morning. I listened to the comforting sound of Daddy’s going through his morning routine. The scratching sound of the poker moving the coals around, and the shovel removing ash from the fireplace. Then the thumps of the logs as they were placed on top of the coals and the clanking of the coffee pot as he made his coffee. The smell of the coffee brewing. Momma’s voice as she started into the kitchen to make breakfast. The clanking pans, the rooster crowed, and it was Christmas. I slid out of the bed and grabbed my clothes. The floor was so cold that I drew my feet back under the covers. I dressed underneath the sheets, even putting on my socks. I grabbed my shoes and jumped as far as I could and then ran to the living room. I stuck my stocking feet toward the fireplace and held them there until they felt like they might start smoking, then I stuck them into cold shoes to warm them up. I looked at the Christmas tree sitting in the dark. I decided I needed to turn on the lights. As I knelt down trying to find the plug and the extension cord, I saw presents wrapped in newspaper and tied with string, each had a name on it. I quickly plugged in the lights to get a better look. As I searched for my name, Daddy walked up behind me and said, “Brenda, put those back; we aren’t going to open presents until everyone is here.”
“Where did they come from?” I asked.
“Never mind,” he said, “Go and help your mother.”
I went into the kitchen where Momma was stirring a pot on the stove. She pulled up a chair and motioned for me to climb into the seat. She handed me a large spoon and said, “stir this for me.” I grabbed the spoon and started to stir. “Not so fast,” she said; then taking my hand in hers she demonstrated a slow circular motion, then removing her hand she said, “Yeah, just like that.” So, feeling grownup and needed, I decided I would be the best stirrer ever. As I stirred, my arm grew very tired, so I switched hands. I could smell the aroma of hot chocolate; as it started to boil, it grew bigger and puffed up, almost burning my arm. I squealed and Momma turned quickly and reached for the knob to turn off the fire. The swelling chocolate calmed down immediately and settled back into the pot. I climbed down from my perch on the chair and went to tell my sister about the presents I had seen under the tree. I told her I did not know where they came from and relayed the conversation of Mom and Dad that I had overheard a couple of evenings prior. My sister Joy was nearly grown up, so she knew a lot more about things than I did. She said,” Just wait, things have a way of explaining themselves if we just give them some time.” Her answer only confused me more, but I decided she was right, I would just wait.
It wasn’t long until Momma called us to breakfast: pancakes, bacon, and hot chocolate. Things were looking up. Daddy said after breakfast we would open our presents. We all ate as fast as we could, even leaving dishes on the table. We were allowed to go to the living room. We circled the Christmas tree, each waiting, anticipating what our present might be. Dad started by saying,” This has been a tough winter; with all the rain I have not been able to get up into the mountains to haul logs, so money is tight. Your Mom and I scraped together what we could to give you a Christmas. Don’t blame Santa Claus; he only exists in fairy tales and bedtime stories. We may not have a lot, but we have all we need. Just know your mom couldn’t sleep until she figured out a way make Christmas happen for you.”
My brother Ike was just small enough to fit under the Christmas tree, so he reached in and pulled out the presents and handed them to Daddy. He read the name, and each of us went forward to receive the gift. No one was allowed to open their gifts until everyone had received a gift. We all sat cross legged around the tree and tore off the paper to reveal tiny baby dolls, little cars, plastic guns, lipstick for my sister, perfume for my momma, and a pocket knife for Dad, not new but freshly sharpened. All the gifts were from the 5 and 10 cent store in town. Then Momma gave us the bags she had been holding since the Christmas program at school. My brothers ran around with their plastic guns yelling bang, bang and falling down like they were shot. I put my baby doll in a sock to keep her warm. Mom and Dad sat on the sofa smiling through their tears, not knowing what tomorrow would bring but relieved to see us happy, enjoying our toys, and laughing together. Smiling faces and sticky fingers never felt so good.
Prayers do get answered, and God always has more in mind for us than we could imagine. At 10 AM sharp, a truck pulled up in front of the house. Three men from the local Lions Club came over and asked our names. They handed each of us a gift. I got another baby doll, but this one had clothes and hair and was wrapped in a blanket; Henryetta got one, too. Joy got a warm sweater; William and Chris got BB guns; Charles and Ike got toy cars that made noise; Shirley got a book and some colored pencils; Patricia got a stuffed teddy bear; John Henry got a rattle and a top that spins. They gave Mom and Dad a turkey, some flour and sugar, a bag of beans, and a blanket.
How do I remember that? Well, there are some miracles that a heart never forgets. The Christmas of 1957 was one of those for me, and it always fills my heart with gratitude. Thank God for the Lions Club and the organizations like them, and for people everywhere who care enough to give and share with others less fortunate. You may not get to see the faces of the people you help, but I pray you feel the joy.
I have told this story a few times, and it never gets old when God writes a story it is like that.
Note: As a result of the Christmas of 1957, Brenda started the first women’s Lions Club in Corpus Christi serving as the organization’s first president. That club still exists serving the Corpus Chrisi area – “a gift that keeps on giving.”
