Janette Oke - They Called Her Mrs. Doc.

1992 by Janette Oke

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

E-book edition created 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-5855-8729-2

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

Dedicated with love to
Mrs. Mabelle Oke,
the wonderful mother
of my husband Edward.
Thank you, Mother,
for accepting me as
one of yours
and for sharing your son, and your love,
for the past thirty-five years.

JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, during the depression years, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Didsbury, Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward. They were married in May of 1957 and went on to pastor churches in Indiana as well as Calgary and Edmonton, Canada.

The Okes have three sons and one daughter and are en-joying the addition of grandchildren to the family. Edward and Janette have both been active in their local church, serving in various capacities as Sunday school teachers and board members. They make their home near Calgary, Alberta.

A Tribute

I came into this world one cold February night in a little log farmhouse on the Canadian prairies assisted by Doc Freeze, the same pioneer doctor who delivered most of us in my family as well as many other neighborhood babies. I do not have any firsthand memories of Doconly memorable and insightful stories. He was almost a legend in the area. Emergency surgeries were performed on kitchen tables with only the light of kerosene lamps for illumination and an ether cloth for anesthetic. His practice stretched for many prairie miles, over rutted or drifted country roads. He worked long hoursany hourswhenever and wherever he was needed.

To him, and to the others like him who served so faithfully and unselfishly in all kinds of weather, under all manner of conditions, I wish to pay tribute. Their devotion to their practice and their people is an inspiration to all.

Contents

She sat on her front porch, the rocker moving so slightly that the gentle swaying was barely detectable. Now and then her hand would lift from the handle of the teacup to swish mechanically at an annoying fly. Strong hands, they were veined and calloused from years of steady tasks, yet delicate even now. Long tapered fingers wrapped securely around the fine china. One hand held the saucer, the other supported the cup, now and then raising the steaming liquid to her lips.

It was a habit of many years, this daily taking of tea on the front porch. She had long since forgotten whether it was the tea or the belonging that drew her there, for from her porch rocker she felt as though she had her finger on the pulse of the small community. Her eyes were sharply alive, taking in everything that happened on the street before her.

All around her, life throbbed and echoed. Neighbor called a greeting to neighbor. Mothers chided their little ones for being underfoot. Two elderly gentlemen took the same walk every weekday to pick up the daily paper. Children called and laughed from playgrounds within their fenced yards or clamored for the attention of friends as they ran down the concrete sidewalks to visit the ice cream parlor. She heard their footsteps now against the unyielding surface, and again a slight frown wrinkled her brow. She didnt think shed ever get used to the concrete. Dull and lifeless, it was just a noiseunlike the board sidewalks of her yesterdays, which had rung with the rhythm of footsteps, seeming to sing and dance beneath the patter of childish feet.

She shifted uneasily and put her cup back on the saucer. There were lots of changes that troubled hersome slightly, others more. It wasnt that she objected to change. She had been thrilled when electricity came to the small town. She had been the first to sign up for the new water and sewer system. And when they bought their first automobile, she was so excited she didnt sleep for three nights.

No, it wasnt change that she objected to, but some changes seemed to take more than they gave. She sighed and sipped her tea again. Like the sidewalks. She had been able to pick out almost every neighbors footfall when the wooden sidewalks still lined their street. She had known the peoples frame of mind by the way they walked. She could have told whether they were out for a pleasant stroll, in a hurry to make a needed purchase before the supper hour, or panicky because of some foreshadowing of calamity.

No, she didnt like all changes. Her rocker moved a bit faster with her agitation. Why couldnt the things that were goodthe parts of life that had worked welljust be left alone? Like the sidewalks? Like her own life? She had always been happywell, no, not always, but mostly, and at least shed enjoyed some kind of peace. Of course there had been difficult things to face. That was part of living. But along with the trauma had been an underlying sense of tranquility, of stability. She didnt know how one would go about describing it, but she knew it was there. That wonderful sense that no matter what the day might bring, God had things in control.

And that wont change, she consoled herself, and her rocker stopped abruptly with the truth and enormity of the thought.?

She shook her head slightly as though to clear her thinking. Of courseof course God wouldnt change. Then whywhy did she have this tightnessthis nagging pain in the pit of her stomach?

It will all be so different, she whispered to herself, and in spite of her years of practiced self-discipline a tear gathered in the corner of her eye and trickled down her withered cheek. She did not bother to lift her hand and brush it away, for to do so would have been to admit its presence.

I wish they would just leave me be, she thought again for the hundredth time. Im fine herejust fine, she murmured aloud.

But it wasnt to be. She knew that. She also knew that their insistence was because of love and concern.

But, Mama, she could hear familiar voices saying, theres no reason for you to stay on here now. We cant care for you here. We worry constantly that something might happen and we wouldnt know until too late.

What could happen? she had wanted to argue.

The worst possible thing in the eyes of her children was that she might die alone. But she was ready for death. She had made her peace with God many years before. She had lived a long eighty-seven years, raised five wonderful children who were now even themselves grandparents. She had shared the long, adventurous life of a wonderful man. She had no inclination to hang on to life.

But of course she didnt argue. She knew her children loved herworried about her. There had been many times throughout the years when she had worried about them. She understood the concerns of love. So she had simply bargainedbargained for just a little more time.

Just one more summer in the house, she had begged, her voice taking on a pleading tone that she had never used before with her children. Just one more summer.