A Book of Christmas Miracles

Bellfountain Community Church and Friends Christmas 2015 Draft

Bellfountain Community Church The history of the Bellfountain Community Church goes back to 1889, with construction of the church building occurring from 1899-1890. The church is located on a hill near the junction of Dawson Road (which leads to the historic Hull-Oaks Lumber Company) and Bellfountain Road, in the tiny unincorporated town of Bellfountain, Oregon. The church began, and largely remains, ecumenical at heart. When services began in the 1800’s the 1st Sunday of the month would be a Methodist service, followed the next Sunday by a Christian service, then a Baptist service, and finally a United Brethren service. Today we are a non-denominational church that only asks that members: accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior, and that the Bible is the Word of God. The church motto is: Enjoy God, Love People, Serve the World. First, we enjoy God. Greg Klein and Luke Krieger are our pastors, but Jesus Christ is our senior pastor. Sunday school begins at 9:15 with church service at 10:30 am each Sunday. There are men’s prayer groups, women’s Bible studies, mother’s in prayer, and other worship, prayer, and study meetings throughout the week. This small church supports an active youth outreach. The church has an AWANA program and hold Vacation Bible School in the summer. Church members are active in the regional Youth for Christ program. Christmas and Easter are special times for the church as congregation volunteers join to decorate the church to celebrate what Jesus means to us. This is a community church at heart and we love people. At Bellfountain Community Church we try to treat each congregation member as part of God’s family. This is a praying Church where the congregation is asked for prayer requests and praises at each service. There is often a problem restoring order after greeting time as members enjoy visiting their friends and families. Several years ago the church acquired Bellfountain School, located across the street from the church. This is the site for receptions, local meetings, and even sporting events in the historic gym (home of the 1937 state boys High School basketball champions1). The church also hosts an annual Wild Game Feed and Family Camp. Church members provide food to support families after funerals. The church also tries to serve the world by supporting missionary work locally, nationally, and abroad. We are blessed to live in a beautiful part of the world, surrounded by God’s many miracles, with streams, Douglas-fir lined hills, verdant Christmas tree farms, and rolling farms and vineyards. We try to share those blessings with others by supporting selected missionary work. The church has an active Helping Hands program to support those in the community who need chores or firewood or have other special needs. The church adopts needy families at Thanksgiving and Christmas to provide gifts and meals, sends boxes of presents to Operation Christmas Child, and supports Christian charities that provide farm animals to Third World communities. Come by and worship with us sometime. For more information on Bellfountain Community Church visit: http://bellfountaincommunitychurch.com/.

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Blakely,Joe R., The Bellfountain Giant Killers: The Story of a Small Oregon High School and its Miraculous Championship Season, Bear Creek Press, Enterprise, Oregon, 2003

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Index Forward…………………………………………………………………….……...3 1. Little George’s Christmas Miracle………………………………………………..6 2. The Home Coming………..……………………………………………………....8 3. A Sled for Troy…...………………………………………...……………………10 4. A Tuba for Christmas…….…….….……………………………………………..13 5. Papa’s Oil Well…………………………………………………………………..16 6. A New Shoulder for Christmas…………………………………………………..18 7. The White Skates…………………………………………………………...……22 8. Love at First Bite……………………………………………………………...…24 9. Sweetie Pie……………………………………………………………………….27 10. The Muppet’s Version of “The Cat Came Back” with an Addition……………..30 11. The Christmas Chores Caper………………..……………………………...……31 12. My Forever Friend……………………………………………………………….33 13. The Toy Ferris Wheel……………………………………………………………39 14. My Best Christmas Gift Ever!...…………………………………………………41 15. The Best Christmas Present Ever………………………………………………..44

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Forward Why a collection of stories about miracles and Christmas? Maybe because the greatest miracle of all is that “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that who believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life” John 3:16. For me there is a personal family connection with Christmas. Christmas was always a time of supreme joy and family fun, and of countless unexpected and even undeserved blessings. There is also the inevitable share of sadness. Maybe because Christmas was so difficult for my mom and dad when they were growing up (See Little George’s Christmas Miracle and A Sled for Troy), they always showered my brother and me with generous presents. Of course that was fun! But more than that Christmas was a time for family and community to celebrate the gifts we had each received. There was the Christmas tree with its magical decorations; the special cookies, fruitcakes, and candies; the beautiful church service; and the Christmas cards from family and friends. We even celebrate the Christmas season with an enormous open house. Our two bedroom and one bathroom house would be crammed each year with our friends as we treated them to pinwheel sandwiches, spicy meatballs, hot hors d’oeuvres, ham, turkey, cheese and crackers, fresh veggies, and an array of desserts. And I got to spend this time with the mother, father, and brother I loved.

Ice’s at Christmas 1960 There is also darker connection for me to Christmas. My father died on Christmas Eve and I flew back to the San Francisco Bay Area Christmas Day to be with my mother. Two of the most painful things about that day were collecting his personal items and the

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presents under the tree. We had to go to the police station to pick up the personal items dad had on him when he died. These weren’t anything special: an old wallet with credit cards and a little cash; a coin purse full of loose change, a small pocket knife, and dad’s wrist watch. But they were a part of the father I loved and had lost. Then at home there were dad’s unopened presents under the tree. Both my mother and I had the inescapable wish that dad had just lived one more day so that he could have opened his Christmas presents. The Christmas season was difficult for me for several years afterward. But in time I have come to remember more of the good and recognize how special even that last day of my dad’s life was. My dad had a heart of gold but he also had chronic heart disease. His first heart attack was during a church sermon at the First Congregational Church in Redwood City, CA. During the sermon he began feeling tremendous pressure on his chest and was having difficulty breathing. My parents had promised my brother and me that we could go to the park after church and play in the sand box. But despite our protests, my mother rushed dad home and the doctor came over to treat him (the days of house calls). One of the greatest miracles in my life was that my father survived this and many other heart episodes to guide and encourage my brother and me into adulthood. He was able to see us graduate from college, earn advanced degrees, get rewarding jobs, and he even got to be a grandfather (my nephew Gary). My dad was always a scrounger. He loved to recycle and re-purpose stuff he found. I once built a barn with all the discarded nails he had picked up from construction going on across the street from his house. No where was this love of scrounging more elegantly displayed than when he was dumpster diving at the local supermarket. At this time my parents were feeding a herd of 20 or more deer that would come to their back door. My parents supplemented commercial feed with bagels, cookies and cakes, bread, and fruit gathered from the market dumpster. That last day my retired and senior dad (not much older than I am now) had climbed into the dumpster and had emerged with a treasure trove of goodies for the deer. When he got home he proudly announced to my mom, “I hit the jackpot.” Dad disappeared down the stairs and out the back door with his deer goodies. Mom was never to see him alive again. After he didn’t come back up the stairs mom called a neighbor who was a fireman. The neighbor found dad down the hill in a clump of brush. He was dead from a sudden and massive heart attack. It is hard to no longer have such a special person in your life. It is especially hard when it is Christmas and everyone around you is celebrating and enjoying the season. But over the years I have come to appreciate the real miracle that dad’s life represented. He was born under difficult circumstances but was raised by a loving grandmother. He fought and was severely injured during World War II, serving on the aircraft carrier Hancock, but married the love of his life, a girl from far away Oklahoma, during that war. After miscarriages and a difficult pregnancy his wife had twin sons born on Valentine’s Day. He survived numerous heart attacks and was one of the first patients to receive a chest in-planted defibrillator. Even that last Christmas Eve he was filled with the joy of

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“hitting the jackpot” for his deer and was feeding them when he died. So I dedicate this book of Christmas miracles to all the moms, dads, brothers, sisters, uncles, animals, grandparents, in-laws and other family members who have shown each of us their love. And I thank God for the miracle of my life, my wonderful family, and a wife who has the spirit of Christmas all year long. Dr. George Ice, December 2015 The story collector

Grandpa George with his grandson Gary Scott, 1984. Note the matching haircuts.

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Little George’s Christmas Miracle Story by Drs. George and Gene Ice

George Emery Ice Christmas 1924 with his new peddle car. My mom, Rubye Pearl, and dad, George Emery Ice, each grew up under extremely difficult circumstances. My mother’s family lost everything when her dad was shot in the back and killed in a dispute with a neighbor over a watering hole in rural Oklahoma (See “A Sled for Troy”). Equally difficult was my father’s childhood. His mother died at childbirth and his father, already raising two other boys, couldn’t face another mouth to feed. With the grief of his wife’s death and the difficult prospect of raising another son, he gave little George up to his maternal grandparents, the Howards. Little George lived with his grandparents and Uncle Jim in Oregon City, Oregon. At some point early on in his childhood his grandparents had a falling out that is rumored to have been about great granddad drinking away the mortgage payment. After that it was just grandma, Jim and little George. They lived in Oregon City and money was short. One example of how desperately poor they were is that little George had poor eye sight and needed glasses but the family couldn’t afford them and so he went without. I later learned that one of the reasons my dad didn’t play any “traditional” sports like basketball, football, or baseball, was that he couldn’t see the ball well enough to play. He did enjoy wrestling and would go to Portland to see professional wrestlers train and spar with them. Dad didn’t get a decent pair of glasses until he was old enough to earn the money to buy them himself.

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One Christmas the stockings were pretty bare at the Howard home. His grandmother took little George to see Santa. When Santa asked George what he wanted for Christmas he said, “I want a car.” His grandmother had that sinking feeling in her heart that only a parent can know. She knew there was no way she could buy such a frivolous present for her beloved grandson. That Christmas Eve his Uncle Jim decided to go watch a show downtown. At the show they were giving away a grand prize of a miniature peddle car. God must have known who needed that car the most because Jim won that car. Christmas morning little George awoke to the car you see him standing next to in the picture above. George went on to fish for salmon with his beloved dog, Pat, below the Oregon City Falls; serve on the aircraft carrier USS Hancock during World War II; marry a girl from Oklahoma; became an electrical engineering pioneer; and raise a family in California. But the pride and joy of that special Christmas made him love Christmas for the rest of his life. When I see the picture of my dad and his peddle car my heart is warmed at the thought of my loving and wonderful father’s joy. God’s miracles can reverberate across generations and the special miracle of Christmas continues to inspire after more than two thousand years.

George and Rubye Ice’s Wedding Picture Matthew 19:26. But Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Dr. George Ice and his wife Becky live in Alpine, OR. George’s dad once earned the nickname from his Bible Study group as the “Wheat” based on Matthew 13:12-- His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire." Dr. Gene Ice is a retired synchrotron radiation physicist and division director with the Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee.

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The Homecoming Story told by Dr. Jim Christensen

Staff Sergeant Art Christensen with his son Jim Nobody seemed to know where he was. The war in Europe (World War II) was coming to an end but where was Merlin Arthur (Art) Christensen? Art was a staff sergeant in Patton’s 8th Armor Division. He had served in Africa, the Middle East, and Europe. During the European Campaign he fought in the Ardennes, Central Europe, and the Rhinelands. He had received the Purple Heart and was a three-time winner of the Bronze Star. But now no-one seemed to be able to find out what had happened to him. Art had been somewhere in Europe when he disappeared. Frantic attempts by his parents to find

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out about Art, including countless trips to Denison, Iowa to visit with military officials continue to be fruitless. There was no indication of any kind whether he was alive or dead. Art was just gone. Christmas Eve 1944 the whole Christensen family gathered together at Art’s parent’s farm. Young Jim Christensen looked forward to the Christmas Eve party with it’s Christmas tree, heaps of food, and family crowd. Jim had been raised by his grandparents after his mother died in childbirth, but he, like the whole family wondered where was his dad? There was fresh snow on the ground and the family cars kept coming. The Christensen clan filled the house with the warmth of laughter, good food, and love. But the question that hung over everyone was, what has happened to Art? The party was getting late and Jim’s uncle turned to his wife and said, “You better hurry up ma, it’s starting to snow.” If the snow got too deep it was hard to drive to the road. Grandma went out to the kitchen to gather some leftovers. Then she heard one of the men say, “There’s a car out there.” The family looked out the window to see a man sliding out of a cab. The family poured onto the porch and grandma took two steps out from the crowd and tentatively asked the stranger, “Art, is that you?” His weak response was “Yes ma. It’s me.” Immediately Art was surrounded by his family. The men shook hands and the women hugged each other. The cry went up from everyone, “He’s here!” Art had been severely injured and had returned to America with 41 pieces of shrapnel in his body. He had been in an army medical facility for 40 days recovering and was just beginning to be able to speak again. Art Christensen was finally home from the war. Luke 15:20-24 “And he got up and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him, and felt compassion for him, and ran and embraced him, and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet; and bring the fattened calf, kill it; and let us eat and be merry; for this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ And they began to be merry.” Dr. Jim Christensen and his wife Betty were beloved members of Bellfountain Community Church. Jim was a longtime radio minister who preached in 34 countries. He is the honorary chaplain for the 8 th Armor Division and continues to dedicate his life to God.

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A Sled for Troy Story told by Rubye Ice to Dr. George Ice

Troy “Plow Boy” Scholl For my brother and me, our uncle, Troy Scholl was an almost mythic figure. He had a ranch in Oklahoma with cattle, chickens, turkeys, and horses, where we visited each summer. The ranch had a pond where you could put your fishing line out in the morning and reel in a big channel catfish for dinner at night. He and his wife were state champion archers and taught us how to shoot bows and even make our own arrows. Troy had played college football for Tulsa University where he was a feared running back with the nickname, “Plow Boy Scholl.” He had gone on to play professional football, first in New York and then in Canada. He had fought in Europe in World War II and carried shrapnel from Normandy so close to his heart that he couldn’t return to professional football. Instead he worked as a physical therapist at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in McAlister, Oklahoma. To most people he was Mr. Scholl or Troy, but to us he was just plain “Unc.” Part of what endeared Unc to us was his unabashed rascally behavior. As a boy he had worried his mother sick jumping freight trains and riding them from Oklahoma to California and back. He would just disappear and then reappear months later. Later as our 10

supposed guardian during summer months, he picked up a cold watermelon each day on his way home from work, and ate the heart out of the melon before leaving the scraps for us when we returned from our Grandmothers for the evening. Troy grew up in Eufaula, Oklahoma, one of the four Scholl children with an older brother and sister, and a baby sister. His baby sister, our mom Rubye, described him as angry and mean as a child. He could turn on a classmate in school and hit him for no apparent reason and was often out at night getting into mischief. Even with the stern discipline of his older brother he could not be controlled. What made him so angry? Maybe it was the death of his father. His father, William Scholl, was a well-to-do rancher. He and his wife, Margaret, had a ranch, cattle, a car, and one of the first farm houses to have electricity. They were doing so well that each of the two older children had their own horse. Life was good. But then tragedy struck. There was a dispute with a neighbor about a watering hole. The farmer used the water for his crops. The rancher used it to water his cattle. The dispute got bitter.

William Scholl on his horse about 1919 One day William rode out to check on his cattle. Normally he wore a pistol in case there were predators or rattle snakes. For some unknown reason, this particular day he didn’t. Something happened at the watering hole. He was shot in the back and killed. Troy was 5 years old at the time. When they brought the body back to the ranch Troy climbed into

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the wagon to see his dead father. It was the beginning of a difficult time for Troy and the rest of the Scholl family. When William was alive the family had prospered but now there was nobody to run the ranch. Margaret was left with four children and without an income. And it was the beginning of the Depression for the United States and the Dust Bowl for Oklahoma. The family lost the ranch and struggled to pay the taxes on their little house. Somehow Margaret kept the family together and fed them with the chickens and pigs she raised from scraps. Most nights it was cornbread and milk for dinner. It is hard to understand how little some people had during that time. There was never money for Christmas presents. Most Christmases the only present the Scholl kids got was a bag of oranges and nuts from the church. But one wonderful Christmas was different. The church hosted a Christmas Eve service and families brought presents to put under the church Christmas tree. When it came time to open the presents everyone was shocked to see someone had placed a present under the tree with Troy’s name on it. It was a brand new snow sled. For this boy, who had nothing, this was like being given the moon. Troy grabbed his sled and, without saying a thing to anyone, ran out the church door and up the hill to try his new sled. The congregation laughed together at this display of joy and determination. Troy had a treasured toy to focus his active and adventurous spirit on. To this day we don’t know who put that sled under the tree for Troy. But it was an anonymous miracle of love for a boy who was having a tough time in life and had not “earned” any reward by his own actions.

Troy went on to play college football at the University of Tulsa and then professional football in the US and Canada. Matthew 6:1-4 “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 3 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” Rubye Pearl Scholl Ice celebrated her 97th birthday September 2015. She lives in San Carlos, CA and is the mother of George and Gene Ice.

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A Tuba for Christmas Story by Dr. George Ice

A musician’s instrument is a source of pride and joy. Every story about how a personal instrument is acquired is special. This is the story of how I got my tuba and its connection to Christmas. It reminds me of a wonderful friendship, family, and undeserved fortune. I first played tuba at Menlo Atherton High School, in the San Francisco Bay Area. Band class and practice began at 7:00 in the morning, which allowed those taking it to cram an extra class into their schedule. Unfortunately, the school policy changed our senior year because of the mistaken (or perhaps correct) perception that most band members didn’t want to take an extra class and get up so early in the morning. But my brother and I were in college preparation classes (biology, algebra, physics, English, German, economics) and couldn’t afford to lose one of those classes. We had to give up the high school band. I did play tuba in the California Youth Symphony and local community band, but after I went to college, I didn’t have access to a tuba. Tubas are expensive. So I didn’t play the tuba for a couple decades. My mother always wanted my brother and me to continue playing an instrument. At some point she and my dad made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. They promised to forgive a loan they had provided me if I agreed to acquire a tuba. They made no stipulations about the type or quality of the tuba or whether or not I played it. They just wanted me to have access to an instrument so if I did want to play it I could. Money was tight (hence the loan) so I began the search for a cheap, but serviceable tuba. At this time my brother-in-law was living in Las Cruces, New Mexico; serving as an instructor in mathematics at New Mexico State University. Robert (Bob) Roberts was 13

not only my brother-in-law but also one of my best friends. He was a gentle giant who stood 6’9’’ tall, had earned a PhD in science education at Oregon State University, and could play the piano, guitar, mandolin, flute, and fiddle. Bob and I had numerous adventures together when he was living in Corvallis but he had moved to find work, first to teach at the University of Oklahoma and then at New Mexico State. Unfortunately Bob became ill after he moved to Las Cruces and was diagnosed with cancer. I was able to rearrange my work schedule and get back to help Bob with chemotherapy treatment he was taking at home. It involved an infusion for several hours each day and my job was to connect the chemo bag to his “port” and make sure there were no air bubbles in the line. Bob was not doing very well while I was there but after treatment he got somewhat better, although he was still very weak and sick from the drugs. One day, while I was in my office in Corvallis, the postman delivered two enormous packages from Las Cruces. When I unpacked them I found two cases designed to hold a tuba (body and bell). The tuba body was inside one of the boxes but the bell was missing. The tuba body looked like it had been run over by a truck. I called Bob to figure out what was up and this was his story. He had seen an ad in the paper for an auction at a local High School. One of the items listed was a tuba. When he got to the auction they were auctioning just the cases. The tuba bell was missing and the tuba body was so heavily damage the High School didn’t think anyone would want it. Bob knew I was looking for a tuba so he bought it for me. What made this act especially poignant is how sick Bob was at this time. It would be less than a year before Bob would lose his fight and die of the cancer. So I had fulfilled my obligation to get a tuba and it could even play in a fashion. But it really needed some work. In Salem I found Case Instruments Repairs and they agreed to straighten out my tuba for a reasonable price if I agreed to not have a set finish date. We struck an agreement and they began their repair work. At that time my job took me to Salem frequently so I got to check on my tuba and saw it in many different states of disassembly and repair. I also needed to find a bell for the tuba. Online I found a musical instrument dealer who specialized in used tubas and tuba parts. They had two bells that would fit my Conn ♭BB recording bass (tuba). One bell was originally from a Sousaphone and the other one was from a much older tuba. At first I was tempted to get the Sousaphone bell because it was brass, like the tuba body. But I eventually decided to get the older bell, which was gold and silver plated. When the bell came it fit both my tuba and the bell case perfectly. After months of work Case Instrument Repairs called and said the tuba was ready. It looked wonderful, especially considering the state it was in when I got it. They even felt so bad about how long it had taken that they re-brassed some of the parts. Tuba Christmas was coming up and so I got to play it along with 100 other tuba players at the Elsinore Theater in Salem. My brother came from Tennessee and Case Instruments

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loaned him an incredible (brand-new, five value) tuba so that we could play together. Brother Gene later admitted he was terrified he would get a ding in the borrowed tuba.

Brother Gene and me at 1994 Tuba Christmas in Salem, OR I’m not a very good tuba player and I don’t play my instrument very often. But I occasionally sit in my living room and play a song or two, and think of the generosity of my parents, my former brother-in-law and friend, and the fun I have when I am with my brother. My tuba reminds me of the magic of Christmas and the Holy Spirit.

Palms 100:1 Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Dr. George Ice is a retired forest hydrologist, who worked in Corvallis, OR for the National Council for Air and Stream Improvement, Inc. for 35 years. He is currently an elder at Bellfountain Community Church.

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Papa’s Oil Well Story told by Betty Jo Nantz Browning

Bobby Nantz rides a horse on the ranch in front of the family Rock House Many of the themes we find in this collection of Christmas miracles surround desperate financial conditions for families. The Nantz family story is one of these. They scratched out a living on a small ranch in west Texas, but Mama and Papa had a lot of mouths to feed. Papa had busted broncos before he was injured in a fall that crippled him for the rest of his life. He planted a small crop of cotton on the ranch that the whole family helped pick, grew some cattle and chickens, and worked at odd jobs. Mama had 15 active children to feed. So just how poor was the family? Papa had complete belief in God and resisted government assistance, but everything purchased was precious. One memorable night Papa was driving to town on an empty tank of gas. He was headed to pick up Mama from the hospital but didn’t have enough gas to get home. As he drove he lifted his head up to the Lord and asked that somehow he be able to get home. Just then a skunk ran across the road in front of him. Papa grabbed a tire iron and killed the skunk. He was able to trade the skunk skin for enough money to get the gas he needed to get Mama home. The kids mostly wore hand-me-downs clothes but they each got a pair of new shoes at the beginning of the school year. One morning before school Betty Jo went to put her shoes on but only one of the shoes was where it was suppose to be. She looked and looked but couldn’t find it. The family couldn’t afford another pair. That year Betty Jo had to go to school with only one shoe. Decades later one of her brothers confessed he had hidden the missing shoe. Somehow the family survived and grew. They faced the joys and sadness of a family including losing a son to World War II. But Papa and Mama always believed in God and his goodness.

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The Nantz farm was surrounded by other properties where small oil deposits had been found. Seismic tests showed there should be oil on the ranch and an oil man had drilled seven times on the Nantz farm. But so far all they had found was “Dusters.” Then Papa heard God in a dream tell him they needed to drill deeper. The oil man knew Papa was a man of God and listened to his story. He had just gotten a new drilling rig that could drill deeper. He said, “Mr. Nantz, I believe what you have told me and I know you are a man of God. We have new equipment. So even though we haven’t found anything on your property so far, I’m going to drill one more well.” The drilling equipment rolled onto the ranch and the drilling began. Suddenly the whole earth shook with a deep rumble. Papa was sitting on the porch when the oil man raced up to the house. He jumped out of his car and yelled at Papa, “Mr. Nantz, tell your wife to grab her Sears and Robuck catalog. We’ve hit a gusher. If we hadn’t capped it your house would be covered with oil.” Papa had his oil well and it was a lucrative one. The first thing they bought was his and hers matching Studabakers. That Christmas the Nantzes could afford to be generous with their children for the first time. The rest of their lives Mama and Papa would be comfortable. But before and after, and through it all, Papa believed that God would provide.

Three generations of the Nantz family celebrate at a reunion about 1955. Far left are Mama and Papa Nantz. Becky Nantz Herring (Ice) is at the bottom center with her head down. Betty Jo Nantz (Browning) is immediately behind Becky. Nehemiah 9:15. “Thou didst provide bread from heaven for their hunger…” Betty Jo Nantz Browning lives with her husband, Mike Browning, in Abilene, TX. lifelong commitment to God. She is the mother of Becky Ice.

Betty Jo has had a

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A New Shoulder for Christmas Story by Dr. George Ice

People ask me how I injured my shoulder? There were of course many injuries and accidents that led to the degeneration of the shoulder but the simple answer is “I had too much fun with that shoulder.” I played baseball, basketball, football, softball, whitewater kayaked and canoed, lifted weights, golfed, cut and split firewood, built barns and garages, planted trees, grew gardens, and just had too much fun. But my shoulder was shot. It had come to the point that if I sneezed hard or rolled on my shoulder at night it would partially dislocate. I couldn’t raise my arm above my shoulder. It was a problem. Reluctantly, I went to see a doctor. Actually, I saw several doctors. They all said I needed a full shoulder replacement. What a miracle it is that we now have the technology to replace joints that are so badly worn or damaged they no longer work. But my surgeon, Dr. Donald Pennington with Samaritan Health Services in Corvallis, warned me that this was a painful and long recovery. During shoulder replacement the doctors must cut and then reattach some of the muscle/tendons around the joint to provide access for installing the new prosthetic. Being an avid golfer I decided to schedule my surgery for November when the golfing is wet and cold so that I could hopefully recover to play again the next summer. All I asked for Christmas that year was to have a new shoulder. I’ve had a number of knee surgeries over my ill-fated sports adventures so I knew what the surgery would involve: no food after dinner the night before, washing and scrubbing to avoid infections, an early trip to the hospital, visit with the doctor prior to surgery, surgical preparations, anesthesia, the surgery, and finally the recovery in the hospital. When I met my young anesthesiologist he turned out to be a University of California at Berkeley graduate. We visited about Cal and our times there as students while he prepared me for surgery. He told me I would start to feel a little dizzy and then I awoke

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in the recovery room with my shoulder strapped to my chest. At least it was still attached. Dr. Pennington visited with my wife, Becky, after the surgery and told her my old shoulder was even worse than they had expected. It had been wearing the socket joint away and was about to become completely unstable. It definitely needed to be replaced. The next few days I was in Good Samaritan Hospital on pain mediation with my shoulder completely immobilized. I enjoyed ordering the hot turkey sandwiches at the hospital but I also looked forward to getting home. When I got home Becky took great care of me. And I remember church family coming over to provide encouragement and comfort. Memorably, Diane McGowan brought over a dozen of her famous bran muffins, which were greatly appreciated (although my dog got at least one of them through nefarious means).

Nurse Becky caring for me at home Slowly I began to be allowed to take my arm out of the sling and to stretch the shoulder to increase mobility. Then light exercising was allowed and I began going to physical therapy. Finally, more vigorous exercising was allowed and the doctor OK’d me to putt a golf ball and to take “mild” swings with a pitching wedge. After months of recovery, stretching, and physical therapy Dr. Pennington OK’d me to swing a driver and begin playing golf again. I was thrilled, but then the fog set in. 19

All I want for Christmas is a functioning shoulder! Those of us who live in the Willamette Valley know that the fog can sometimes settle in the valley and create miserably cold and damp conditions. So just when I got the OK to begin playing golf again it was bitterly cold and dreary in the valley. And the fog had decided to settle in for an extended visit. But Oregonians also know that when it is foggy in the valley it can be sunny on the coast. So after impatiently waiting for the fog to lift I convinced Becky that we needed to go to the coast so that I could see if my new shoulder worked? We headed over to Waldport to play at Crestview Golf Course. I had never played there before so I didn’t know what to expect. It is a small 9-hole course up on the coastal hills, nestled amongst the vacation houses and residences of the area. When we got there I found out they don’t have a driving range so I wouldn’t be able to test my shoulder or warm up. My first full swing of a driver would be on Hole One. With caution I took my first full swing since getting my new shoulder. It wasn’t a particularly long drive but it was down the middle and this first hole is fairly short. I was fortunate enough to hit my next shot onto the green by “clubbing up” with a longer iron. I was on the green but I was a long ways away from the hole and the green had two tiers. My ball was sitting on the top tier and the hole was nestled in the middle of the bottom tier. While I hadn’t been allowed to swing my irons and woods for months I had been

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allowed to practice putting. I saw a break in the putting line to the hole because of the slope of the green. I started my putt to the right to compensate for the break and hit it with just enough force to go over the slope on the green but not so much that it would roll off the green. I watched as the ball rolled down the hill, break to the left, then straighten out and fall into the hole. On my first hole after complete shoulder surgery I had made a birdy (one under par)!

Playing golf in Hawaii to celebrate a year without joint replacement surgery. Sometimes golf is frustrating even when we are grateful! I wish I could say that my golf game was transformed after my shoulder surgery and that I’m now playing on the Senior Professional Golf Association Tour. Not quite. But I can play and enjoy golf again and I go out and play with Becky or my friends without pain. But that first hole was an answer to prayer and my Christmas wish for a new shoulder. Matthew 21:22 “And all things you ask in prayer, believing, you shall receive.” Dr. George Ice and his wife Becky are members of Diamond Woods Golf Club. George has a 9 handicap, which isn’t too bad for a senior golfer with an artificial shoulder, artificial knee, and compromised back. But, like all golfers, he wants to get better.

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The White Skates Story by Diane McGowan

I’m one of eight kids born into a Norwegian family living in Minot, North Dakota. My father was a carpenter who provided for the family but, like many others in the area, we were poor. But we didn’t realize we were poor. While there was no extra money for fancy clothes or presents, there was always lots of love. To help make ends meet we rented out rooms to up to six Minot North Dakota College students. We also hosted a foreign exchange student, and we still remain friends. Often our family and the students would gather around the piano to play, listen, or sing. Christmas was always a special time for our family. Stockings were hung and filled, usually with a piece of fruit and some nuts. We always got excited when we found an orange in our stocking. One memorable year my parents accidently put a lemon in one of my sister’s stocking and she got quite the ribbing. We also had a family tradition each Christmas Eve of everyone entertaining the rest of the family with their own God-given talents. It could be reading to the family from the Bible, singing a Christmas song, tap dancing, telling a joke, or playing a song on the piano. There was always the excitement of performing for the family and the joy of receiving the blessings of brothers and sisters giving of themselves. Dinner Christmas Eve was always lutefisk (a dried, preserved whitefish), lefse (a flat bread), and mash potatoes covered with rich melted butter. At midnight we went to a Christmas service at our church. Again, we didn’t have money for fancy presents, but there would be a small present for everyone under the tree. This could be a scarf, homemade mittens, or socks. There was seldom a “big” present under the tree for anyone, but one year I dared to expect I might get something I really wanted. A pair of new ice skates. Behind our house was the Mouse River, a source of adventures in both the summer and winter. When the Mouse River froze over it was a great place to go ice skating. I’d shovel off the snow and make my own ice rink. There I could skate as much as I wanted. I loved ice skating but there was one problem. My ice skates were men’s, black, handme-down ice-hockey skates. I wished for new women’s white ice skates that I could glide around the ice on. But we almost never got frivolous presents like that so it remained only a dream. Then one Christmas season my mother asked me to come upstairs. Out of a box she pulled the most beautiful white ice-skates I had ever seen. I was in love with them. Mother asked me to try them on and they fit me perfectly. Mother said they were for my sister but secretly I knew they were for me.

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When Christmas came there was a shoe box wrapped under the tree with my name on it. I excitedly opened it up only to discover a pair of used white women’s ice skates. I was crushed but tried to hide my disappointment before I rushed downstairs to cry. Mama heard me downstairs and asked if I was OK. I made my best effort to hide my disappointment but it was pretty obvious. Later I learned that my sister had earned her own money and bought herself the new skates. My mother had me try them on to see what size would fit me. She had found the used skates and bought them for me. When I look back I remember how much fun Christmas was even when we didn’t get a “big” present. I only remember getting one other big present (a ring with a turquoisecolored stone). And sometimes we don’t get exactly what we want, but it is the love behind the present that is the real miracle. It is ironic that the Christmas I focused so much on a “big” present (the ice skates) was the most disappointing. My mother always said that “If you aren’t happy it’s your own darn fault.” I choose to be happy remembering my white skates, my wonderful family, and the magic of Christmas in Minot, North Dakota.

Diane and her family in Minot, North Dakota James 5:13 Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Diane and Mac McGowan are members of the Bellfountain Community Church and live in Alpine, OR. Diane plays the piano as part of the worship team at Bellfountain Community Church and is a quilter.

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Love at First Bite Story by Rita and Bob Christensen

Bob and Rita Christensen with Bello Bob Christensen was serving in Germany as an E4 (Corporal) for the US Army. Rita’s family rented apartments to US servicemen. Bob’s superior, Sergeant First Class Anthony (Tony) Trevisono and his family roomed at Rita’s family house. Bob was not only Tony’s favorite subordinate, but also a frequent visitor at the house. Rita was often away working but Bob and Rita would eventually collide. One pleasant warm day Rita was back home sitting in her favorite chair on the porch. She decided it would be nice to have a cool drink so she went into the kitchen. When she returned there was a young US serviceman sitting in her chair. That was her chair! She looked at her German Shepard, Bello, pointed to Bob and commanded, “fass” (bite). Rita got her chair back. Most men might be discouraged by such an initial meeting but Bob saw something in the feisty young German girl. He found out she loved Kandy Korn so he began to bring it to her when he visited. Just as important, he discovered that Bello could be “bribed” with raw eggs and ground hamburger. The eager young Bob even found out that Rita’s dad liked coffee and Cuban cigars so he made it a point to bring those along as well.

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Eventually Bob got the nerve up to ask Rita on a date. They visited the beautiful city of Heidelberg, famous for its university and ancient castle. The date and Kandy Korn must have gone well because they continued to see more and more of each other. Love blossomed. Christmas was coming soon but so was the end of Bob’s tour of duty in Germany. He was scheduled to return to the United States in January. With this significant deadline looming, Bob mustered up the courage on Christmas Eve to ask Rita to marry him. She said yes. There were just a couple obstacles still in their way. First, Bob needed to get permission from Rita’s dad, and second, he needed to complete the Army paperwork for marrying a German citizen. On the first count, Bob wavered. Instead of meeting Rita’s dad and asking his permission to marry his daughter, Bob asked Rita to do it. Bob pleaded with Rita saying “I don’t think I can get time off to talk to your dad, can you do it?” Rita’s mom and dad were not thrilled that there little girl was considering marrying this American, but eventually agreed. Next there was the Army and government paperwork. Everything had to be done in triplicate and in both English and German. Despite the extensive and expensive translations, Bob got his paperwork as soon as possible, but it was not going to be processed before he was sent back to the US. Bob asked Tony for a 6 month extension of his tour of duty and somehow Sergeant Trevisono was able to arrange it. The picture below shows Bob and Rita along with her parents and the Trevisono family on Christmas 1957 in Germany.

Christmas 1957 in Germany. Bob and Rita are at lower left of photo. Rita’s mom and dad are in the upper right. Sergeant First Class Anthony Trevisono and his wife are in the upper left and lower right corners with their three children. Bob has just proposed to Rita. 25

While Bob had gotten the needed reprieve, it wasn’t smooth sailing to their wedding and Rita’s coming to America. Eventually the paperwork went through and March 7, 1958 they were joined in a required civil ceremony by the local Bȕrgermeister. A week later an Army chaplain married them again in a church ceremony. Rita and Bob argue that going through two weddings within a week helped to cement their marriage, which is now approaching six decades. But there was still some uncertainty even after two weddings. Many German girls had married GIs and gone to America only to return. It was hard to adjust to such a foreign environment and to be away from family. And Rita didn’t speak English! Just to be safe Rita brought enough traveler checks with her so that she could buy a plane ticket back to Germany if she needed to. While Bob was being transported across the Atlantic in a troop ship, Rita flew to the US on a flight that had three separate emergencies and extended unexpected stops. These stops delayed her arrival in the US by nearly a full day, almost derailing her plans to meet Bobs Aunt and Uncle in New York so she could wait with them for Bob to arrive. But she and Bob eventually got together once again. Was it love at first bite? Maybe not, but with a little Kandy Korn and raw hamburger magic Bob was able to win Rita and even her dog, Bello. Proverbs 31:10 An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels.” Bob and Rita Christensen live between Alpine and Monroe on Alpine Road. Bob and Rita are long-time members of Bellfountain Community Church and Bob is a past elder.

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Sweetie Pie Story by Dr. George Ice

Sweetie Pie making friends with Kelsey Ice This story doesn’t start out particularly sweet but it gets better. My parents, George and Rubye Ice, had just lost their cat, Klicker. Klicker, or formally Klick Klock, was one of those amazing, confident, loving pets that everyone wants in their lives. When my parents lived in Redwood City, Klicker had formed an early bond with our dog, Lucky. When Klicker got in a confrontation with a neighbors cat she would lure the other cat over the fence into our yard. Once in our yard, Lucky would chase the cat away, giving both the dog and Klicker great satisfaction. After Lucky died and my parents moved into the hills above San Carlos, CA Klicker quickly adapted to the brush and hills in their backyard, becoming the queen of the mountain. I can still picture her patrolling the hill below my parent’s house for mice and curled up on the couch in the family room. But Klicker had passed on at a ripe old age after years of love. Then along came Sweetie Pie. Ilene, my folk’s wonderful, longtime friend, knew they had lost their cat. Her daughter had just found a stray cat across the San Francisco Bay so she brought it over to San Carlos, “just to give it a couple days and see if they liked it.” It didn’t seem to be a particularly good match. My mother and father had a white carpet. This cat had long, lustrous black fur. My parents were rapidly approaching retirement. Here was a rambunctious young cat full of energy and spunk. While Klicker had patrolled the hill below their house, it was a dangerous area for a cat. Coyotes frequented the hill in search of a meal and cat is on their diet. But the cat purred when held and was friendly and sweet, although obviously scared from the disorienting hour-long trip across the bay.

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They decided to give the cat a chance. Tellingly, they named the cat Sweetie Pie because it had such a sweet disposition. It was pure luck that I was visiting my parents when this new cat was “delivered.” Each December the American Geophysical Union holds its annual Fall Meeting in San Francisco, CA. This is annually the largest meeting in the world of astronomers, geologists, hydrologists, physicists, and other geophysicists, attracting as many as tenthousand participants and nearly as many oral and poster presentations. The meeting afforded me a chance to visit my parents, staying at their home at night, and driving up to the meeting in San Francisco each morning. I had arrived early in the Bay Area for the AGU meeting and my mother and I were in the process of cooking a family-favorite Christmas treat, Aunt Bill’s Candy. Making Aunt Bill’s Candy is a tricky process, involving the caramelizing of milk and sugar and cooking the candy for just the right amount of time. Right in the middle of this process, Ilene showed up with the cat. After Ilene left we let the cat wander the house to get use to it while we completed the making of the candy. At some point while I was stirring the hot thick gooey candy I smelled something that wasn’t quite right. When we went to investigate we found that the new cat had pooped in the middle of the living room (on the white carpet). My parents were generous enough to recognize that the cat had not learned where everything was yet, including its cat box. The cat never had another accident in the house, but my enjoyment of Aunt Bill’s Candy was forever compromised by this experience. Aunt Bill’s Candy Ingredients: 3 pints white sugar, 1 pint whole milk or cream, ¼ lbs butter, ¼ tsp soda, 1 tsp vanilla, 1 lbs nut meats. Directions: Pour 1 pint sugar into a heavy aluminum or iron skillet and place over low fire. Begin stirring with a wooden spoon and keep the sugar moving so it doesn’t scorch at all. It will take almost half an hour to melt the sugar and at no time let it smoke or cook so fast that it turns dark. It should be about the color of light brown sugar syrup. As soon as you have the sugar started to heat in the skillet, pour the remaining two pints of sugar together with the milk or cream into a deep kettle and set it over low heat to cook slowly (while the other sugar is melting in the skillet). As soon as all the sugar is melted in the skillet begin pouring it into the kettle of bubbling milk and sugar keeping the kettle on very low heat and stirring constantly. The real secret is to pour a very fine stream of the melted sugar from the skillet into the kettle when the melted sugar will form a firm ball in cold water. Once all the sugar has been mixed in the kettle, turn out the fire and add soda, stirring vigorously. Add the butter then let it set for 20 minutes. Add the vanilla and use a wood spoon to beat the mixture until it is dull. Add the nuts and put the mixture in a pan. When the candy has cooled, cut and wrap individual pieces in wax paper. From the kitchen of Rubye Ice

The following day I made my trip up to San Francisco to attend the AGU meeting. My mother had a bridge game arranged with some friends and needed to drive there, but there was a problem. The cat was loose in the house and if they opened the garage door the cat could escape. In my parent’s house the garage is downstairs with a steep set of stairs leading up to the main floor. My dad assured my mother that when they opened the door he would be at the entrance to catch the cat should it try to escape. The decision was made to open the garage door so my mom could go to her bridge game. The garage door opened, and my mother began backing out her car. My father stood on patrol at the

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garage entrance for the cat. Suddenly a black blur raced past him into the open. Despite his good intentions there was no way my father could possible catch the meteoric cat as it raced out the garage door and into freedom. There is nothing as demoralizing to a man as assuring his wife that he can help her and then watching helplessly as his good intentions go wrong. But there was no escaping the fact that the cat was gone. Here was a cat that was not familiar with the area and was now loose outside where coyotes and even mountain lions roam. There were the obvious fears that the cat would try to somehow find its way back across the bay. My father walked the streets and hills calling and looking for the cat. He visited with neighbors. He went out again and again, but no cat. When I came home that evening from the AGU meeting there was a pall over the house. The new cat was lost. Despite all efforts there seemed to be little hope of finding the cat. The next day my dad repeated his efforts to find the cat, hoping it was in the neighborhood but it was nowhere to be found. Hope faded. There was the guilt of a mistake that seemed un-repairable. In the middle of the night the next evening I awoke to a commotion at the front door. My mother had heard something at the door and dad had gone out to investigate. Outside he found Sweetie Pie meowing in the shrubs next to the entry way. The cat was hungry and afraid but it came to my dad. He quickly brought her in and shut the door. Sweetie Pie was back.

Sweetie Pie back in the house after escaping during the Christmas Holiday Sweetie Pie turned out to be a loyal and loving cat. As my father’s health faded he began to take afternoon naps in his bedroom. Sweetie Pie would always accompany him as my dad listened to “books on tape.” There in the bedroom Sweetie Pie would curl up by my

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dad and they would sleep together for hours. My dad’s snoring didn’t seem to faze Sweetie Pie in the least. They were buddies. Some friends once gave my wife and me a door mat with the saying, “Yellow Labrador retrievers are proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy in our homes.” The same can be said for every dog, cat, and other pet that brings joy to a household. Sweetie Pie didn’t live too much longer after my father died. She came down with feline diabetes and my mother couldn’t administer the shots Sweetie Pie needed. But I’ll always remember this cat that had such a rocky start but was a loyal companion for my parents and ended up being every bit as sweet as her name. Romans 5:8 But God demonstrated his love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. George Ice and his wife Becky live with their irrepressible yellow Labrador retriever, Peanut, and enormous but friendly cat, Mr. Gray.

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Peanut and Mr. Gray share some space

The following song is adapted from the Muppet’s version of “The Cat Came Back.” It substitutes the names of Bob and Rita Christensen who are dedicated animal lovers (now with their beloved cat, Lucy, see also Love at First Bite) and then adds the stanza about George and Rubye Ice’s cat and its misadventures leaving the house.

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Muppet’s Cat Came Back Lyrics Modified with Addition Bob and Rita had a cat that Bob said they couldn’t keep So Rita put her up for sale at a price she thought was cheap She took her to a neighbor to ask him for advice He said, “Leave the kitty here. She can help me with the mice.” (Chorus) But the cat came back, she wouldn’t stay away She was sitting on the porch the very next day The cat came back, she didn’t want to roam The very next day it was Home, Sweet Home. Then Rita met a man who was driving way out West He would take the cat along as a special honored guest The steering wheel was wobbly, he drove into a tree The car was just a total wreck as anyone could see Chorus So Rita bought a gun from the Human Cannonball Bob put the cat inside with Tri-Nitro Toluol When he pulled the trigger, the cannon made a roar The neighbors all surrendered ‘cause they thought it was a war Chorus Then Rita gave the cat to a man who had a bomb When he took the cat away, she was acting cool and calm And then the bomb exploded, it made an awful sound They searched and searched for ages but the man was never found Chorus George and Rubye had a cat that was brand new to their house She was sweet and very loving to George and to his spouse But while backing out the car the cat ran out the door They thought that she was gone they wouldn’t see her any more Chorus

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The Christmas Chores Caper Story by Barbara “Barb” and Bruce Ashenbrenner ‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads; and mama in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winters nap; when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter? From Clement Clarke Moore’s The Night Before Christmas.

I awoke with a start! It was 4:00 A.M. on Christmas morning, 1999. I had heard a strange noise outside. There it was again! It was someone trying to start the 4-wheeler in our barn! “Who would be wanting to steal our 4-wheeler on Christmas morning,” I thought in those few split seconds of wakefulness. We live on a small farm and were raising Holstein dairy heifer calves at the time. We had over 150 calves on milk in calf hutches in the field. Every morning and every night, we took bottles of milk to the calves using our 4-wheeler and small trailer to haul them out. We had part time help, but they weren’t expected to come to feed calves on Christmas! “Bruce…. Bruce… wake up. Someone is in the barn stealing our 4-wheeler,” I said in a panicked voice. Bruce sat up and heard the noise as well. Away to the window we flew like a flash, so to speak, and there were our two children, Shiann (age 12) and Stuart (almost 10) out in the cold, with the bottle cart full of bottles. “I thought you knew how to start this thing”, we heard Shiann lament to her younger brother. “I do. I don’t know why it won’t start,” he replied with frustration. “Hey, you two.” Shiann looked out from the barn. There was her Dad, standing at the front door in his underwear holding a baseball bat. “What are you guys doing?” he asked. We have had livestock since the kids were young, and they were always fed on Christmas morning before we began our Christmas present opening. We would barricade the kids from access to the Christmas tree, and they had to stay in their rooms and hallway until

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we came in from doing the chores. Of course, they would be calling from their windows, “Hurry, Dad!” I was always excited about Christmas too, so I would get into the house first while Bruce finished the clean up. Then he would s-l-o-w-l-y walk to the house from the barn, petting the dog and playing with the cats on the way. The kids would be yelling from their bedrooms… “Come on, Dad, hurry!” This year they thought they would surprise us. They had talked to our employee on the side and asked her exactly where all the bottles should go, as this changed weekly. They had a little map of the calf domes in the field and had it all planned out. Christmas Eve, they got all of their chore clothes ready. They set their alarms for 3:00 A.M. They knew I was a light sleeper and they would never make it through the kitchen without me hearing them, so Stuart snuck into Shiann’s room. They popped out the window screen, and walked in their socks to the garage to get their chore jackets and boots.

The Christmas Chores Caper Culprits: Shiann and Stuart

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They had made all of the milk and filled all of the bottles, fed the 25 newborn and youngest calves in the barn, gave grain and hay to all of the sheep and the weaned calves before attempting to start the 4-wheeler. They had never tried to start it that early and when it was that cold, and did not know to use the choke! Bruce went out and they hurriedly fed the hungry, and somewhat surprised, calves. Arriving back in the house, they all jumped into our bed with their freezing cold hands and feet, giggling and expounding on their adventure. We had our Christmas morning earlier that year, with lots of hot chocolate and a story to tell. It was one of the best Christmas presents ever! Ephesians 6:1-4 Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor your father and mother (which is the first commandment with a promise), that it may be well with you, and that you may live long on the earth. And fathers, do not provoke your children to anger; but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Barb Ashenbrenner is a member of the Bellfountain Community Church worship team. Her husband, Bruce, is an elder at the Church.

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My Forever Friend Story by Cristen Sullivan

This story begins 21 years ago when I was just beginning my journey into my teenage years. I am one of six children and often felt out of place and different. I Was loved but an easy target for being teased as I loved things not typical of a child. I loved school and anything to do with books or learning. I loved to please my parents. I loved Kenny G. I loved cooking and sewing. I loved playing cards and puzzles. I wore glasses. I was gullible and naive. I was a tomboy and didn't relate to anything girly. I was different. We grew up on 5 acres and always had a menagerie of critters, mostly horses. The horses were mostly my older sisters’ passion and she got the family started in them but they were definitely a family affair. My parents were 4H leaders and we always had 4-8 horses most of my childhood. I liked the horses and even had my own but I didn't excel at them like my sister did and preferred doing school work or playing baseball or football in our pastures with my youngest brother. My older brother and sister each had a dog and I longed for a special friend of my own from the moment they got their puppies. They named them Kenzie and Willie after the McKenzie and Willamette rivers and they quickly became part of the family. A few years later, one spring afternoon we had a family come look at a horse we had for sale and they said that they would pay the full price for the horse if we took the two puppies that were in the back of their truck. My parents didn't even want us looking in the truck but it was too late for that. Two darling black fluff balls were soon staring at the faces of six small children. Needless to say, my parents couldn't say no even though they knew they should. We now had 4 dogs and my Dad was not impressed.

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Bear and Bandit were soon their names and I had laid claim on Bandit. But there was a problem. These were going to be big dogs and Dad said they had to live outside. I tried working with Bandit and training him but he was a lot of dog for me being only 12, and they were hyper puppies. I remember being disappointed but not saying anything because I had so badly wanted these puppies. What I really wanted though was a dog like Kenzie or Willie who were like shadows to my brother and sister. They followed them everywhere, slept on their beds, kept their secrets, and were a shoulder to cry on. Soon spring turned to fall and I had given up on the idea of an inside dog of my own. I started the 7th grade and was more out of place than ever. I still had short hair, didn’t have any friends, and certainly didn’t wear the right clothes. I remember just trying to fit in enough to make it through each day with minimal ridicule. I was always in the top of my class academically and loved school, but felt like I could be friends with my teachers more than my peers. My older sister on the other hand was definitely part of the “in crowd” and I always looked up to her as someone I wanted to be like. She always had lots of friends and soon boyfriends. But I never really felt like she even noticed me or my interests. I thought she didn’t really pay any attention to me now that she could drive and had a boyfriend. What I didn’t realize was that she was very aware of what I was feeling. My older sister, who didn't share any interests with me, understood what I needed and longed for. Bear and Bandit were turning into pretty good albeit big and goofy family dogs. I dressed Bandit up as a carousel animal in our local parade and he and I were starting to work as a team. My brother Kevin had claimed Bear as his and we took turns taking care of them. At some point we made a large kennel for them as the Oregon rain produced mud covered dogs who liked to jump on everyone and everything. I didn't enjoy taking care of them in the winter and sort of regretted even wanting them that day they were presented to us. They were not what I was really wanting. They were large and awkward and tried to constantly escape their kennel when I would feed them. Bless our neighbors as Bear and Bandit frequented their place quite often on their joy runs. Being a large family of 8, we didn’t ever have much money but my parents always made us feel special and loved. Christmas time was a great example of this. We had several traditions that always made the holiday something to remember. The first was our stockings that could be opened as soon as we woke up and were stuffed full of treasures. My Mom and Dad still give each of us kids, our spouses and our kids stockings every Christmas. I look forward to them every year! Once Mom and Dad were up we would have a breakfast of overnight French toast and a sausage and egg bake. Then we would open a few small presents in the house. All of us had our own wrapping paper so we knew whose presents were whose and we would open them up as a family. Then we would get to go out to the barn, which was usually decorated with a large bow, and each of us kids would have one large special present. A few of my memorable presents were bikes, a snowboard, a horse bridle, and a huge stuffed teddy bear. So much thought went into each gift and we were always so excited to see what awaited us.

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Never in my wildest dreams could I believe what awaited me on that Christmas morning. My parents had gotten me my own puppy! Not only that but they got this puppy because my older sister knew that I needed her. My older sister who I thought didn’t even notice me had spent the past 2 weeks hiding this sweet little puppy in our house so I could be surprised on Christmas morning. And surprised I was! We already had 5 dogs. Never would I have imagined that my parents would let me have a dog to call my own and more importantly a dog who called me her own. I was head over heels in love with this pot bellied little puppy from the moment I saw her.

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Kodi soon became the companion that I had longed for; she never strayed far from my side. My freshman year of High School, I had a writing assignment about my best friend. Of course, I wrote about Kodi.

Kodi was truly a Christmas miracle; looking back it still makes no sense that my parents would add a 6th dog on top of 6 children! But they knew that I needed her and got her for me anyways. Kodi saw me through some of the toughest seasons of my life. She was always there for me and instantly calmed me if I was stressed or anxious. She got me through middle school where I was constantly bullied and ridiculed. She got me through losing a family friend that was like a brother to my siblings and me. She got me through the shooting that took place at my High School and the loss of safety and security that came with that. She stayed by my side while I was in bed for a month with mono. She survived our family house fire and moved into town with me in an apartment while our house was being rebuilt and I was going to the U of O. (We both decided that city living was not for us!) She and I shared our own little cottage on my sisters’ property after College. And she stayed by my side all of the years that I spent depressed and alone as a 20 something girl now wanting a man to share my life with. If I didn’t have her to come home to all of those years I really don’t know if I would be where I am today. I also believe that God sends us what we need when we need it. I spent so many years in fear of losing Kodi because she was so special to me. When I met Jesse, some of that

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fear faded as I knew I wouldn’t be alone when I lost her. But when you have a best friend for that many years that got you through so many life situations, you know it still won’t be easy. After Jesse and I were married and decided to start a family I really started to appreciate exactly when Kodi entered my life and, for the first time, when she would exit my life. Kodi tolerated people other than me but small kids made her very nervous. She couldn’t predict their behavior and would nip at their heels trying to herd them. I knew that Kodi was destined for a specific time in my life and I would soon have to transition to life without her. GracieAnne was born in November of 2009 and Kodi departed in February 2010. I couldn’t have planned a more perfect time for her to leave me than when she did, after my first child was born but before that child got very active. I will never forget her and love that my girls have a “Kodi” stuffed animal that keeps her memory alive in our family.

1 John 4:7 Dear friends, let us continue to love one another, for love comes from God. Anyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. Cristen and Jesse Sullivan are members of Bellfountain Community Church and live in nearby Alpine on Bellfountain Road. Cristen is active in the church and Jesse is a member of the worship team.

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The Toy Ferris Wheel Story by Jeri Johnson

It was gone! The wonderful, beautiful, tin, hand-cranked toy Ferris wheel was gone. I had dream about having it for my very own. Now it was gone! My family wasn’t desperately poor but we weren’t rich either. We had plenty to eat and we were always warm, but there wasn’t a lot left for frills or expense toys. I lived with my parents and big brother in Los Angeles, CA. I was one of those children that come a little later to a family, in fact, 10-years after my brother. But despite our age difference he was a wonderful, protective brother. Near our house there was a mom and pop five and dime store2 that we visited three or four time as week. It was owned by a nice Japanese-American family with whom my parents were friends. While everyone else was busy looking at hardware, candy, or kitchen utensils, I was in the toy aisle visiting the beautiful toy Ferris wheel. It was tin, white with an intricate blue design, more than a foot tall, and had a key that could be cranked to make the Ferris wheel turn. Each seat had a piece of candy neatly wrapped in cellophane. I loved the Ferris wheel and enjoyed visiting it each time we went to the store. I told my mother the Ferris wheel is what I wanted for my Christmas present. She told me, “I don’t think Santa can make that Ferris wheel so you shouldn’t expect to get it for Christmas.” There was always some fear each time I visited the store. Would the Ferris wheel still be on the shelf? Each visit the Ferris wheel was still there. I could just stare at it for hours. Then one visit near Christmas I was stunned to find that the Ferris wheel was gone. Could it have been moved? Was it somewhere else in the store? Each time I went to the store I was hoping to see it had returned, but it was gone. 5&10 Stores, for those too young to remember them, were the equivalent of a cross between today’s dollar store and general store. Many of these “five and dime” stores had counters where you could get a “blue plate special” or a milkshake. 2

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I was distraught and wailed to my mom, “the Ferris wheel is gone.” My mother comforted me, saying, “Don’t be disappointed. Some other little boy or girl is getting the Ferris wheel for Christmas.” Maybe I should have been comforted but sometimes it’s hard when you’re a child and you have a dream that now someone else is getting for their Christmas. But there was no getting around it. The Ferris wheel was gone and I resigned myself to no longer seeing it at the store. Our family opened our Christmas presents on Christmas morning. Dad would go under the tree and distribute presents to everyone. One of the presents under the tree was a big wrapped box for me. When I opened it up I found the toy Ferris wheel! But this present wasn’t from Santa; it was from my brother. My mom had let my brother know that my heart was set on getting the toy Ferris wheel. He worked at a local bowling alley and had saved up enough money to buy the Ferris wheel for me. My brother had given me my dream. Later that day he drove me to San Gabriel for pony rides. Of course Saint Gabriel is a messenger sent from God and He showed me his love through my brother this most memorable Christmas. My brother is gone now but I will always remember this special kindness to his little sister and I look forward to thanking him in person someday.

Luke 11:13 “So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him.”

Jeri and Dan Johnson live on Alpine Road near Glenbrook, with their boarder collie Ziva. Dan has participated with the Bellfountain Community Church Helping Hand crew to serve neighbors but he and Jeri are devout Catholics.

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My Best Christmas Gift Ever! By Greg Atkinson

I grew up on a farm in the Willamette Valley of Oregon with my mom and dad and 2 brothers. Those days are a big part of who I am today and what I have done with my life. It is still one of the most treasured and wonderful periods of my life. My parents were teachers and then an administrator in nearby schools during most of the year but we always were working around the farm. Chores included feeding and watering the animals, cleaning the stalls, and harvesting from our garden and the fruit and nut trees. We were all especially busy during the summer months when school was out because of the family haying business. This was one of my favorite times of the year because we were working and playing hard together! But my other “favorite” time of year was the Christmas season. Of course we still had to do our work chores daily on the farm and it was wetter and colder, but I loved all the festivities of Christmas time. There were the lights, the special music, happy people, cookies, the Christmas tree decorating, and the school-break (especially long and wonderful when it snowed!). Christmas also meant going to church and celebrating Jesus’ coming to earth and His birth as a child in a manger. Oh, and of course my favorite part of Christmas was the getting and giving of gifts from and to one another each year. Sometimes these gifts were small and homemade but they were always special and cherished by all. There were the “big” gifts like a special sweater, a pair of boots, or even a puppy or a bike! I still can remember many of these times and gifts more than 40 years later. But the Christmas I remember the most and have celebrated every year since is when I was 8 years old and I received my best gift ever! It was on Christmas Eve and, as usual, we had gone to church where we sang many Christmas hymns and had a short message from the Bible retelling the coming of Jesus into our world as a child. But this time the Christmas story was different. This time God spoke to me personally and opened up my heart to really see and know that He came to give me His gift of Himself!

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It was that night on December 24th I asked my parents to pray with me and I knelt with my mom and dad at their bed and received Jesus’ gift of forgiveness and everlasting life! And on that night Jesus came into my life and gave me a new heart and a personal relationship with Him forever. This was when I received My Best Christmas Gift Ever! It always will be! Ever since that night this Christmas Gift has defined my life and what it is all about. I’ve been a college wrestler, a husband and father, a youth minister in Germany, a pastor in Guam, and now the manager of a fitness center. But in everything I do I try to follow Jesus’ new commandment, John 13:34 “So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other.” I celebrate every Christmas thanking God for His Best Christmas Gift to me. I thank Him also for my parents who shared His message with me at home and took me to a church that told this message from the Bible about the real meaning of Christmas. I hope you will accept God’s Best Gift to you too!

The Atkinson Brothers: Older brother Ken, younger brother Steve, and Greg John 3:16-17 For God loved the world so much that He gave His one and only Son, that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent His Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through Him. Greg Atkinson is the manager of the Sunset SNAP Fitness Center in Corvallis, OR. Several Bellfountain Community Church members who workout at SNAP include the McGowans, Ices, and Smiths.

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The Best Christmas Present Ever Story by Gene Ice As brother George has said, Christmas was always a special time at the Ice house (See Introduction). Father and mother’s firm belief in Christmas magic was infectious. Everyone got into the spirit of the season with elaborate cleaning and decorating of the house, cooking of Christmas treats and a frenzied search for just the right Christmas gifts for parents and brother. George (I called him Gary because our father’s name was George) and I had a tradition of shopping at the Woolworths for a plastic model for each other. We were particularly fond of aircraft carrier models, as we had spent hours reading about the exploits of our father and his shipmates on board the U.S.S. Hancock during the Second World War. We would circle the shelves with plastic models and choose one while our sibling was choosing another one for us on the other side. We would then pool resources to find a gift for father and mother. Battery powered shoe polishers were a favorite for Dad and the clerks at the local women’s wear store always seemed to know a scarf or costume jewelry necklace that we could afford for our mom. Before gift shopping however, came the decorating and the candy making. Mom organized the candy making with brother Gary and I as reluctant assistant chefs and eager taste testers, while father provided the muscle for stirring the thick candy as it cooled. As we grew older, Gary and I took charge of decorating the outside of the house and our efforts bordered on the possessed. Our father gave us a start with a large wooden snowman that we propped up in the middle of our front yard. Other decorations included a reindeer with a bright red light bulb nose. Later, Gary and I found abandon carpet rolls that we wrapped with red and white plastic to make gigantic candy canes for the corners of our porch. We then circled the roof with lights. One year we hand carved white foam scavenged from a dumpster to make icicles that we attached to our gutters. The realistic icicles were incredibly exotic in the San Francisco Bay Area where it only snowed once during our childhood. The house really looked like it had been transformed into a Santa’s village until a particularly windy evening spread our handy work across the neighborhood. Undaunted, we re-hung the icicles until we got a nearly windproof system worked out. Christmas 1976 however, I knew would be different. My parents had moved to a new house, my brother was married and I was in love. I had met Rosalyn several years earlier, but at the time she had a boyfriend. Indeed her boy friend was a fellow kayaker and I somehow thought it would break a kayaker code to ask Roz out. Nevertheless, I was mesmerized by her and was uncharacteristically tongue tied when near her. Then, I learned that Rosalyn had joined the Peace Corp. This news told me that maybe Roz and her boyfriend were not that close and gave me the nudge to ask her out for a date before she disappeared from my life. Screwing up the courage to ask her out proved tough for me, but eventually I blurted out a somewhat garbled invitation to a movie and dinner at a favorite pizza place. Roz eyed me suspiciously thinking that I had invited her to a pornographic movie, but I quickly explained that the movie entitled “Journey to the

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ragged- not raw- edge” was not a Fellini flick, but rather a 16 mm video shot by local canoeists of their adventures on the northern lakes of Canada. Having cleared up this embarrassing hurdle, we set the date and things moved very quickly from there. The two months before her Peace Corp assignment were incredible. Now however, Roz was off on her assignment to Chile, and despite a letter every day, it was not the same as being with her. I longed to see Roz and wanted to share a tiny part of her adventures in Chile. Over months of letters and despite a nearly two-week delay in correspondence, we decided that I would visit over my Christmas break. This would be exciting for me, as I had never traveled to South America, let alone a country run by a tyrannical dictator!

Augusto Pinochet, Dictator of Chile from 1973-1990 and Commander-in-chief of the Chilean Army till 1998 I knew this was something I needed to do, but dreaded missing Christmas with my parents. My parents were naturally disappointed but they supported my decision and were very curious about my reasons for abandoning family tradition. I went so far as to send them a cassette tape that basically told them that Roz was the girl for me, and that I needed to spend some time with her during her Peace Corp appointment. They saved that tape and gave it to me years later. As a way of trying to spend a little holiday time with my parents, I arranged to meet them at the San Francisco airport during a long multi-hour layover I had before flying to Florida and then on to South America. I also planned to spend several days with them on my return. When I arrived at the San Francisco airport, my mom met me with the news that dad had suffered another heart attack. He was in the hospital but was adamant that I should continue my trip. He insisted that I should not attempt to visit him during my layover. I knew that this meant he was probably in such bad shape, that he didn’t want me to see him and feared that one look would convince me to stay so I could spend some last hours with him. My mom practically pushed me onto the airplane and was equally insistent that I continue with my plans. With a heavy heart and knowing that I would probably not see my father again, I boarded the plane and headed to South America. I said a fervent silent prayer for my father, but I must admit I had but a mustard seed of faith.

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My father, George Ice, shown here at the Heart Center for Sequoia Hospital celebrating the center’s One Year Anniversary. George was the Heart Center’s first patient and always enjoyed a good hug from a nurse. In those days, communication was primitive from where Roz was serving in the Atacama Desert, and I knew with her location and with our extensive travel plans, I would have no contact with home for the duration of my two weeks in Chile. My trip to Chile was everything I had hoped for and more. It was incredibly exotic to experience Christmas in the Southern hemisphere where Christmas trees wilted in the heat, and vendors called out on Christmas morning hawking fresh bread from the street. I saw a graveyard of steam locomotives outside Santiago, traveled to see the great evergreen forests of Southern Chile and spent time in the driest desert in the world- where no rain has ever been recorded. Roz and I ran from an angry mob of Chileans who were mad at Americans for criticizing the Chilean dictatorship and dined on exotic dishes made with fresh food from the Pacific Ocean and local farms. I simply had amazing adventures, and what awaited me when I returned faded from my consciousness.

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She married me! We passed our 35th wedding anniversary two years ago! Then, as I began my return trip, I began to dread the news I would receive. I was ashamed and feeling guilty for having had such a good time and simply couldn’t bring myself to call my parents house until I was back in the San Francisco Airport. With trembling hands I dialed the familiar family phone number. The voice on the end of the phone left me speechless and eternally grateful. It was my father! He cheerfully asked if I wanted to be picked up, which I definitely did. He acted like there was nothing unusual at all. Father had made another of his miraculous recoveries and seemed in good spirits and quite pleased that I was back. What an incredible turn of events. My gratitude and relief was beyond words. I was and continue to be completely overwhelmed by this unexpected gift of my father’s life. It was the greatest Christmas present ever. Later, when my father died on Christmas Eve, I was comforted by the unexpected additional years we had with father. These were years when he got to meet his grandchildren and continued the Ice family traditions of joy for the unexpected miracles of Christmas.

Isaiah 12:3 As fresh water brings joy to the thirsty, so God's people rejoice when he saves them. Gene Ice is a retired Corporate Fellow of the Oak Ridge National Laboratory and lives in Oak Ridge Tennessee. He and wife Rosalyn are elders in the Presbyterian Church U.S.A., and have now been married for more than 36 years. They have a son Gary Scott, and a daughter Kelsey who lives in Salem Oregon not far from her beloved Uncle George Gary.

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