Lucy and Joe
(1959 family photo; children, from oldest to youngest (from right to left): Eva, Harvey, Claude, Ray, Betty, Margarett, and Joseph; Mother: Lucy, and Father: Joseph)
Listen folks, this is all true.
It’s about the beginning of something new.
The adventure is common as some stories go.
But here the two main characters are Lucy and Joe.
The yarn they started was long overdue
And it’s hard to believe what these two would do.
Although they grew up together neither one knew,
They’d be together before life was through.
Joe was a dude, dark and thin, but not tall,
A handsome fellow and that’s not all.
Lucy was petite with light brown hair,
To say she was beautiful would be fair.
Joe popped the question when Lucy was twenty-one
And these two would be married before a year was done.
Their first child was a daughter
And the last was a son.
There were five in the middle
By the time they were done.
Three girls and four boys was the roll call.
T’was a beautiful family and that’s not all.
They started out with love on their side;
And for twenty-nine years they did abide.
Knoxville, Tennessee is where it all started.
But Tennessee and this family were soon to be parted.
With their seven children and no job to be found,
Joe began searching in towns all around.
South Carolina is where he began.
But Kokomo, Indiana is where the search would end.
Lucy left for Kokomo in 1943
With six kids, baby Joe on her knee.
They didn’t have much money but they were alive.
And by the love they had they were sure to survive.
This family was blessed to have beans, and some meat
Along with hard times they were sure to beat.
For Joe factory work was not on his side.
Lucy said he took ill in 1945.
They moved to Paoli in 1946,
Thinking the country would provide a fix.
But for the boys the country was a bore.
Simply the move didn’t help the score.
One by one they would return to the City.
The family soon followed with their dog and a kitty.
Kokomo was the place they thought fine
And they were all together in 1949.
Margarett Inez Bates
(1949 family photo; back row: Father: Joseph Estel, Harvey, Eva Mae, Mother: Lucy; second row: Joseph, Margarett, Betty; front row: Ray and Claude. We were living at 1116 S. Emery St., Darrough Chapel, Kokomo, IN)
Christmas 1947
Of the past I oft remember,
though at times it was not great.
Very soft, I tread the memory.
Was it a school or was it fate?
Hard the chore to put together.
Puzzle pieces now I see.
Seven children seldom settled.
Next to last included me.
We were poor and pressed survival.
To make it through there was no line.
Many days we were not certain, but
Tomorrow for us the sun would shine.
Looking back the picture’s faded.
Most of life was somehow jaded.
Once in a while I see a glimmer,
Nine in all as I remember.
Pressing hard to find survival,
Every thing seemed a rival.
Times and places are sometimes scrambled.
Recollection is somewhat rambled.
But now and then I catch a memory
Of a bleak time, not just penury.
Although getting past was an endless struggle,
And pondering it long my mind would boggle.
Tomorrow did come, with God’s great blessing
In spite of hard times, need, and its dressing.
Our greatest Christmas was in forty-seven.
We were all together and it was like heaven.
Chicken and ham and lots of the other,
All of us seven and father and mother.
Our oldest sister and her husband
Brought their baby.
She was a treat
And I don’t mean maybe.
Of that special time, I oft remember
I believe it was our best December.
Margaret Inez Bates
Seven Children
Seven children, seemed unneeded,
Caught in fates sucking sound,
Running, moving, seldom settled,
Never planted on the ground.
Could it be that we were special,
Treasures each a priceless jewel,
Was our family just a school?
Yes, I believe families are special.
Within life dramas thus unfolds.
Although it passes our attention,
Through each part a storys told.
Listen close, the curtain is rising.
Once only a chance arrives.
Let’s remember this one statement.
Family only by love survives.
So we’ll press on in spite of turmoil,
Hurting or come what may,
Let’s hold firm onto each other,
Knowing it is worth the price we pay.
Without a doubt we all are precious,
Matchless no one can compare,
Forever we will be united and agree
Cause we were there.
Margarett Inez Bates
My Confession Concerning My Tongue
Teach me, and I will hold my tongue: and cause me to understand wherein I have erred (Job 6:24).
Father in the Name of Jesus I make the quality decision to take control of my tongue. I renounce and therefore cancel the power of every word I have spoken against you and your operation in my life. I ask you to put a watch over my mouth. My desire is for the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart to be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer (Psalm 19:14).
Because I KNOW that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks, I set myself to fill my heart with your word and always to speak in line with YOUR Word. Father, as Your child, I confess that I am healed – I am filled with your mighty Holy Spirit.  I am the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus. I am victorious in every area of my life (Romans 4:17b). God, who quickeneth the dead, and calleth those things which be not as though they were.
Father, I thank you for helping me not to be double-minded. I set myself to be in line with the Word of God. I choose  to let the word of Christ dwell in me richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in our hearts to the Lord (Colossians 3:16).
An American Poet
A Little Girl once held at bay
Received a call to a brighter day.
A gift was given, and received
Though hard to fathom, much less believe
No qualifications for the chore
Just a gentle nudge and an open door
Once she entered light did come
Sometimes to the point, it seemed to numb.
The flow of words always in Rhyme
Would come then linger at anytime.
She learned to capture each given thought
Each snapped picture or whatnot.
Once on paper a book would form,
And possibly prevent an unknown storm
Or maybe comfort some grieving soul
Or who knows the final toll.
That little girl is me,
Margarett Inez Bates