Ruby Mae remembers standing with a group of relatives in a strange living room while the adults discussed where she should sleep that night. Ruby Mae’s mother had left her toddler in Portland, Oregon, with one of her married brothers, while she headed south to look for a job, with the intent of reclaiming her daughter when she got settled. But she had disappeared.
In the meantime, that married brother had lost his job. It was the Great Depression, and the state put the family on welfare, but refused to provide for a child that was not theirs. The family’s two children resented being asked to care for Ruby Mae, dumping her out of their wagon and treating her badly. For her part, the two-year-old would throw herself on the ground when she didn’t get her way, kicking and screaming.
Ruby Mae pointed at a 15-year-old cousin and stated that she wanted to sleep with him. The adults all laughed, but she didn’t see anything funny. Instead, they put three dining-room chairs together, covered with blankets and a pillow, and put her down for the night.
Then Aunt Hattie had a solution. She and Harvey were Adventists, the only Adventists in the large family. They were scheduled to go to the Gladstone camp-meeting soon. They would take Ruby Mae with them and see if they could find a family looking for a child there. This was common during the Depression. Maybe they would get lucky.
Ruby Mae stood in a large tent filled with more people than she had ever seen. Someone lifted her up on a high platform and she can remember trembling. A man announced, “Here is a little girl who needs a mother and daddy. If you would like a little girl or if you know of anyone that does, talk to me after the service.”
After the sermon, a retired minister from Walla Walla, Washington, came up and said, “There is a couple at Walla Walla that are looking for a child to adopt.” The minister in charge said, “Contact her relatives and get permission to take her there.”
When the retired pastor took Ruby Mae to Paul and Carolyn’s house, he said, “Here is your little girl.” Carolyn said, “Uh, my husband is out visiting prospective students for the school next year and I won’t be able to discuss this with him until he gets back in two weeks.”
The pastor said, “Well, keep her for two weeks and then let me know what you decide.”
Carolyn said to Ruby Mae, “One of these days a man is going to come to the door. He won’t knock. He is just going to walk in. When that happens, you greet him with “Hi, Daddy.”
One day Carolyn said, “Here he comes!” Ruby Mae, in her inimitable manner, threw her arms around his legs, danced around him, and said, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” They adopted her. She was re-named Marilyn Mae at the age of three.
Paul and Carolyn were very brave. They had already taken home two children, only to lose each one. Their first was a baby that had been dropped off at an orphanage by the father, who had lied, saying the baby’s mother was dead. The frantic mother finally found her baby and reclaimed the child. Their second child, Timmy, was with them for eleven months before a relative reclaimed him. They had been devastated. The location of both of Marilyn’s parents were unknown. Could they take the disappointment of losing a third child?
And Marilyn was a challenging child, to say the least. She was unpredictable and had horrible tantrums. She would throw herself on the ground, kicking and screaming.
When she was seven, the family moved to Takoma Park, Maryland, where Paul would teach at Washington Missionary College. They temporarily moved into the dormitory for married couples while waiting for their new home to be ready. Marilyn’s tantrums were noisy, and often daily, occurrences in the dormitory. Life became intolerable. The only way Paul could stop a tantrum was to pick Marilyn up and stick her under the bathtub’s cold-water faucet.
One day Paul took Marilyn aside and said, “You know, this isn’t working. Your mother and I are not happy and you’re not happy either. You have to learn to quit having tantrums or we are going to have to send you somewhere that will make you happy. Would you like to pray together to ask Jesus to save you from having tantrums?”
I, myself, was scared of my tantrums. I wanted to quit, but I couldn’t. I readily agreed to pray with the father I had learned to love and who was so kind. We didn’t pray when I had a tantrum; we prayed when I was calm. We prayed on a regular basis, and the tantrums gradually quit. By the time I was eight years old, they ceased, forever. Jesus had mended my broken heart. From then until the present (I’m 96 now), I’ve never had another tantrum.
Dependence upon Jesus became a well-known part of my daily life, a part for which I am exceedingly grateful, a part of my life upon which I depend. I was truly delivered from a terrible problem and given a calm, grateful, and blessed life.
Marilyn Beach has been a member of the La Sierra University Church since 1957 and celebrated her 96th birthday this year.