Guest Blogger: Mary F. Bale (1876-1963)

I have no pictures of Great Grandma, but maybe she looked liked me?

An old Madam Alexander doll, maybe Great Grandma looked like her on her wedding day?

My Grandma (Mary F. Bale's daugher), I know Grandma looked like her!

Today our guest blogger is my great grandma Mary Francella (Bearfield) Bale who loved to write poetry.  Mary grew up near Lisbon, North Dakota with five siblings.  In 1899 she married Samuel and they had eleven children.  My grandma, Winnifred was one of them.  This blog contains poems written by Mary F. Bale.  Enjoy!
Gratification:
I'm no poet, and I know it,
One glance of these lines would show it.
If my tongue could but express
Half I see of loveliness,
Half I hear of melody,
Half the frangrance of the spring
Which gay vagrant breezes bring,
I would be the greatest poet
That the world has ever known.
He who fashioned yonger tree
In its gracious symmetry
Gave me eyes its grace to see,
Gave me ears that I might hear
Bourne upon the evening air
Yonder bird song sweet and clear;
Gave me heart and mind and soul
To appreciate the whole
Of the glories He has given
As a foretaste of His Heaven;
But in love denied to me
The sweet gift of poetry.

This Is The Girl I Love:
Eyes like the misty tenderness
Of April's softest skies,
Mouth the sweetest of Cupid's bows
Near whose corner a dimple hides;
Walk as free and unstudied
As the lightest breeze that blows;
Cheeks as soft and downy
As the heart of a crimson rose:
Voice as sweet as the tender note
In the call of the wooing dove;
Heart as pure as unsullied snow-
This is the girl I love.

Only God Can Make a Tree:
I'm sure He made that old elm tree-
You know the one I mean-
Its trunk and brances ringed by leaves
Of shimmering, rustling green.
It beckoned to the tired feet
That passed along the road
To pause a moment by the way
And shift their weary load.
It spread its arms to welcome them,
It's leave a whisper made
To tell them of the cool sweet rest
Within its pleasant shade.
How many weary workers
That tree has comforted,
And given courage for the toil
That earned their daily bread!
I hope if ever I reach Heaven
My homesick eyes shall see
The faces I have loved so well,
Green hills, sweet flowers, bright sunsets-Well
And yes, an old elm tree.

Lullaby:
Be not afraid, my dear one,
Soft on your pillow lie.
Angels watch o'er you through the night,
And so do I.
Fear not the dark, dear little child,
Her mantle soft and deep
She spreads about you kindly
To guard you while you sleep.
Sleep softly, dear one, softly,
Safe as on Mother's breast,
God and the friendly dark will bring
Sweet dreams to soothe your rest.

Prairie Winds:
Untamed are the winds of our prairies,
Wild and tempestuous and free,
Blowing o'er limitless acres
Unbroken by valley or tree.
Blithe are our rollicking prairie winds,
Whisking the dust in gay whirls,
Snatching the sheets from the long swaying lines
Ruffling the baby's curls.
Soft are our prairie breezes
Fragrant with newly mown hay
Bringing the blessing of evening's cool peace
After the heat of the day.
Dear land, may thy sons and thy daughters
Be as free from the follies that scar,
As frank and as independent
As the winds of the prairies are. 

Valentine:
I can't spell a lot of words,
But I know a few.
Dearest - love- and valentine
Are all spelled y-o-u.

Lights:
The lights that shine on Broadway
Excel in brilliancy
The sailor loves the dancing gleam
Of the sunset on the sea.
Soft moonlight for Lover's Lane,
Sunshine for butterflies
But for me the tender lovelight,
In someone's hazel eyes.

A Miracle Is a Miracle:
With God all things are possible.
Why should you doubt Christ came to earth,
As His Father willed, by a virgin birth?
Why should you think, why should you say,
That God must work in the usual way?
At Cana turning water to wine,
From a tiny seed to a blossoming vine,
God's son to man by a birth divine-
Calling one great and another small
Doesn't alter the facts at all.
A miracle is a miracle.

Memory:
The sun is gold and the sands are pearl,
The sky is blue above,
But the glory of all the world cannot dim
The memory of your love.
Clouds hide the sun and the sands are grey
Darkness blots out the sea.
But neither clouds nor nights can erase
Your face from my memory.

A Greeting:
Here's "How" to a pleasant acquaintance
And may we be meeting again
When the wild rose is sweet in the thickets
And the cactus blooms over the plain.
And if at that season I'm missing
From this old world's cares and commands,
Here's "How," for a pleasanter meeting
Over there- with our harps in our hands.

And, here they are!  The photos you have been waiting for!  Great Grandma was a beautiful lady!

Careers, Vocations, and "Puttin' in Yer Time"

Careers, Vocations, and "Puttin' in Yer Time"

       My great grandma (Mary Bearfield) was a one-room schoolhouse teacher in the 1890s.  My grandma (Winnifred Iverson) was an elementary teacher from the 1930s to the 1960s.  My grandpa (Norman Iverson) taught math, music and business and was superintendent of schools in the 1930s and 40s.  My mom (Linda Iverson) was a first grade teacher for three years in the 1970s and my dad (Robert Iverson) was a music teacher for thirty years, also starting in the 70s.  Growing up, there didn't seem to be many other career options besides teaching!  I was one of those children who played school with my dolls all lined up in front of me as I "taught."  Sure, I had other things I wanted to be when I grew up (a famous singer or violinist, a writer or  illustrator, or maybe even the voice for a Disney animated movie?).  My brother wanted to be a professional baseball player, so why couldn't I dream big?

       I didn't decide I wanted to become a teacher until ninth grade career day.  I followed around a kindergarten teacher and I just KNEW that was what I wanted to do.  I loved the energy and excitement of five year olds!  Years later, I fell in love with 7 year olds and got hooked on second grade.  I felt at home in the classroom.  As I grew older and continued to feel the tug toward teaching, I came to better understand what it meant to have a vocation.... something you had been called to do.  My college friend, Pauline, is now a pastor in North Dakota, and back in college, she would often talk about the need to believe that your job is your vocation, your ministry, your service to the Lord.  Now that I have been teaching for thirteen years, I better understand this concept.  I am a teacher.  But, more than that, I love my students.  I am serving the Lord by serving my students.  This is my ministry.  Teaching takes all of me.  Last August, I wrote a blog called "If..." about all the things I would enjoy doing if my whole life were not consumed by being a teacher:  

(http://www.journalingjennifer.blogspot.com/2012/08/if.html).

       Recently, my husband asked me if I could do my education and college all over again, would I still become a teacher?  Without a moment of hesitation, I answered YES!  What followed was a very interesting conversation about what we could see ourselves doing if we couldn't have our current careers.  I would probably still work with young kids (holding babies in the infant room at Cobber Kids Corner Daycare in Moorhead, Minnesota sounds great!.... or something with children's ministry at a church).  I could see doing more with my writing (a cubicle job of responding to letters at Focus on the Family in Colorado Springs, Colorado was intriguing to me after visiting there years ago).  I have my music background and could teach piano or violin lessons privately.  I think I would even enjoy doing beginning orchestra in a school or community setting.  I think I could make any of those jobs be a vocation.  But, then there are "Puttin' in Yer Time" jobs like being a cashier/duster at Hallmark or working with food all day or doing a task that takes little brainpower.  Uff-dah!  That's not for me!  I wonder if that kind of job could ever feel like a vocation.  I suppose it could....  

     There are days when teaching is really, really, REALLY hard.  There are politics and unhappy parents and negative co-workers and uncooperative kids and times my heart is simply not in it.  There are days when I can hardly wait for that minute hand to reach 3:10 so I can leave those walls and ceilings for a while.  But, there are more days that are rewarding and productive and good.  I get a high out of being organized.  Teaching requires organization.  I love feeling a connection with my students.  That happens every day.  I'm excited about the content I teach.  I learn new things every year.  God is at work in my classroom.  I invite Him in.  He stays and makes Himself at home.  God likes my vocation.  He has called me here.

      Sometimes when I think about my great-grandma, Mary Bearfield, teaching in a one-room school house in the 1890s, I think about how she would be proud of me.  She doesn't even know me, but I think she'd be proud of me.  I bet she had days where she was watchin' the minute hand too, but most of all, I hope she found her job to be rewarding and good.  I hope it was a vocation to her too.