Eficiencia del Mercado de Divisas Español
2.2 MERCADOS EFICIENTES
2.2.1 CONTRASTE DE LA HIPÓTESIS DE PASEO ALEATORIO
R. GIESEN said to me of my darling wife, Evelyn, after Rebecca's birth, which had been perfectly natural, "Young man, that's a great young woman you married. Evelyn is made to have babies."
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Evelyn was German and white; I was part Cherokee Indian and dark. Dr.Giesen said, "You two will make beautiful babies."
We did, four of them—two boys and two girls—and the six of us faced the world in togetherness.
Evelyn originally wanted only two children. I was thinking four. She had come from a family of eight children and I, five, so it seemed just right to me for us to have four. I agreed to two, but that was one agreement I was to break. After we had Rebecca and Ronnie, I asked for two more. Evelyn thought about it for four years and finally agreed, and we had Richard and Roberta. Obviously, we decided to begin each child's name with an R. After they came, she agreed four were better than two!
Rebecca Ann Roberts, born December 16, 1939, was a robust child. She was dark, showing her Indian features, and carried a heavy mane of black hair, which fell in soft waves over her head and down to her shoulders. She was outgoing in her personality. There was nothing shy about her. But she was definitely a mama's girl. Of course, we introduced her to many people through my ministry.
For three years, she traveled with us as we held our revivals. She said her first word, cut her first teeth, and took her first steps in the houses of pastors who were our sponsors. They all loved Rebecca. Her first day of school was in Toccoa, Georgia.
I wanted the children to learn as much as possible, and Evelyn did, too, so we kept after them. Each Saturday night Evelyn taught them their Sunday school lesson, mainly because she discovered that some of the teachers did not know
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the lesson.
Once one of our children complained, "Mother, why do we have to teach the Sunday school lesson so often?"
"I didn't know you did," Evelyn answered.
"Well, we do."
Evelyn checked and learned that the Sunday school teachers soon realized that our children knew the lesson so it was easy, if she or he was unprepared, to call on Rebecca, Ronnie, Richard, or Roberta to tell the story in the lesson to the other children in the class. Later, as they grew up, they came to value those extraordinary calls upon them to teach, for they discovered they received more than they gave. They never forgot it.
When the children were school-age, we were living on a farm. My father had urged me to buy a farm for my family to grow up on, if only for a few years. We spent six happy years there, teaching the children the kind of life I had lived on a farm. They were going to school in the little town nearby. Evelyn soon noticed our children were getting all A's. She didn't think the lessons were hard enough, so she switched Rebecca and Ronnie, the two older ones, to Tulsa schools—Ronnie to the new Edison High School and Rebecca to the private school, Holland Hall.
At Holland Hall, which had a superior program, Rebecca graduated with a B average, which was more to her temperament and desire to study. That was before ORU came on the scene, so she went from Holland Hall to the University of Tulsa.
During the growing-up days of my children, I was gone two-thirds of the time in my healing crusades. When I was home, I took special time with them, both as individuals and as a family.
One day after I had come home from an extensive crusade trip, Evelyn asked if I wanted her to bring me up-to-date on all the children. She started with Rebecca and proceeded to tell me that Rebecca had said, "Mother, I'll never make a student. All I really want to do is have a career. I want to work in Dad's office.
[By that time, she had attended Tulsa University for two years.] Remember, you promised me I wouldn't have to go to college after I earned a stenographer's certificate."
"What did you tell her?" I asked Evelyn.
"I was waiting to see how you felt about it."
I said, "I think she's described herself very well. She's a strong young woman, she loves the Lord, and she'll make some good young Christian man a great wife."
"Well, you better get ready," Evelyn said. "She's fallen in love with Marshall Nash, the son of Rev. W. J. Nash, whom you know very well and love."
"She has?"
"Yes," she said. "I think they're going to get married. Marshall is waiting to ask you for her hand when you get the time."
The Nash family lived in Georgia. Reverend Nash, as the conference
superintendent of the Georgia Conference of the Pentecostal Holiness Church, had befriended me at a very critical time in my life. He and his beautiful wife, Frances, had three sons—Jim, Bill, and Marshall—and all three had come west to Oklahoma to work in my office in Tulsa. I admired the young men very much.
Jim was our photographer for the crusades. Bill managed our radio station.
Marshall did much of the mechanical work, especially the printing, and he had a special touch for business.
I freely gave consent for Marshall to marry Rebecca. They had a lovely wedding ceremony in our front yard. She was a beautiful bride, and she became a beautiful wife.
Over the next few years, Marshall became a successful businessman in the Tulsa area, and he and Rebecca had three lovely children. Evelyn and I were thrilled to be grandparents and were happy to see Rebecca so fulfilled in her life.
But destiny would soon change all that, ending it in one of the greatest tragedies we have ever experienced.
—— "God Knows Something About This We Don't Know"
Early on a Friday morning in 1977, our doorbell rang. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen where Evelyn had let in my dear associate, Collins Steele. His face was ashen.
He said, "I have some bad news. Marshall and Rebecca died last night in a plane crash over the Kansas wheat fields on their way to Tulsa. I'm sorry." And he burst into tears.
Evelyn shook as if she had a chill. I felt numb all over. "Oh, the children,"
Evelyn said. "They'll be up by this time waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come home."
"Yes," I said, "and we've got to go over there and tell them Mommy and Daddy are not coming home."
Evelyn and I threw on some clothes, and we drove to their house. On the way, I couldn't pray except in the Spirit. I felt my in-sides were being torn out, and no words of my mind were sufficient to pray.
As I prayed quietly in tongues, I asked God for the interpretation. I received it:
"G od knows something about this we don't know."
Evelyn took my right hand and held it. "Say it again, Oral."
"God knows something about this we don't know."
I repeated those words all the way over to where the children were waiting:
Brenda, thirteen; Marcia, eight; and little Jon Oral, five.
When we rang the doorbell, all three rushed to open the door. They were expecting their parents. Instead, they saw us. We couldn't keep the tears back, and they saw them. Suddenly, they knew something was terribly wrong, and they
began to cry.
We took them in our arms. I said, "Children, Mommy and Daddy are not coming home. They were killed a few hours ago when their plane crashed."
Brenda cried harder and picked up one of our plaques sitting on the table, which said, "God is bigger than any problem I have." Marcia grabbed my legs.
Little Jon climbed up into Evelyn's lap. We sat there hugging them, crying and trying to emotionally hold on.
Finally, I said, "Brenda, Marcia, and Jon, we prayed as we came over, and the Lord said to me that He knows something about this we do not know."
They couldn't grasp that, only that Mommy and Daddy were gone.
Later, I talked to Marshall's brother, Bill, and his wife, Edna. I said, "Evelyn and I would love to take these children and raise them. But at our age, they need someone younger."
Bill said, "Marshall and Rebecca had made a pact with us and we with them, if anything happened to them, we would take the children. Yes, we will take them. It will be an honor. We'll raise them as if they were our own."
I met with them and the children and officially put them together by prayer.
The children's little eyes stared at me with hurt until I thought I could not stand it. But they loved Uncle Bill and Aunt Edna, who were two years older than Marshall and Rebecca.
Then I left to return home to Evelyn. When I walked into the house, I saw she was lying down. "Oral, hold me," she said. "I don't think I can get through the night."
I knew that was right, for I needed something to do at that moment. As I held her, again the only way I could pray was in tongues. Again the words came: "God knows something about this we don't know."
The media picked up those words and carried them nationwide. In his next Sunday sermon on television from the Crystal Cathedral, my friend Dr. Robert Schuller repeated those words as a meaning of God's all-knowing power and His love for His children. Other pastors told those words to their congregations.
Tulsa ministers came to our home and prayed with us. Each one helped us.
Among those coming was Dr. Bill Wiseman, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, who especially ministered to Evelyn in a way that she has not forgotten.
Dr. Kenneth Hagin, Sr., came with his wife, Oretha. Dr. Hagin prophesied from the Lord that out of the loss, God was about to bring forth something great for us and the entire body of Christ.
In the aftermath of that awful hurt on our lives, Evelyn and I stood up publicly and appeared together the following Sunday on our national TV program to share with our friends. We had the largest audience we ever had on a Sunday morning—the Nielsen rating put it at over five million. But no matter how strong we were in the Lord, the emotional attachment to our dear ones got the best of us, and I took Evelyn and Richard out of town to try to get over it.
The deaths of Rebecca and Marshall, leaving their little children behind, were
beginning to overwhelm us. We had been so close. We loved Marshall as one of our own sons. I could always rely on him. He was a deeply spiritual young man with superior business ability, and he was making his mark on Tulsa. He was gone, and our firstborn was gone.
We got on the plane with tears streaming down our faces. I knew that Evelyn and I sharing our hurt on our television program wasn't enough. I would have to write the whole story. Our Partners were waiting. Also, many other people who were sympathetic to my healing ministry had questions about how such a tragedy could befall a man of God. I would have to depend on God to help me.
In a future chapter, you will see how Kenneth Hagin's prophecy about the loss came to pass.
We are grateful to God that Rebecca and Marshall's children have turned out well. At this writing, Brenda is thirty years old and has her own computer business. Marcia married John Williams of Fort Worth, Texas, in 1993 and is very happy. John is in movie production in Hollywood. Marcia has started a unique company of her own with beads of the nations, which she makes into necklaces with her own hands. They are selling like hot cakes, partly because they are so beautiful with the varied colors of the beads, and each one is an original. She got the idea while majoring in drama at ORU. Jon Oral is twenty-two. He of all the children has seemed to have been hurt most by the loss of his parents. He has had a rough time. Bill and Edna have lavished much love on Jon, and so have Evelyn and I. We have seen him rise above his hurt and come into his own.
Of all the grandchildren, Jon Oral shows his Indian features the most. His grandfather Nash was one-half Cherokee Indian and his grandmother Roberts a quarter blood, and he could pass for a full-blood. He is very proud of his color, and so are we. He and his two sisters are very close, although he lives in Tulsa and Brenda and Marcia in different areas of California. They meet once a year and stay in contact religiously by telephone and by fax. They are committed to the Lord, and I'm happy to say they are close to this ministry. They are a precious legacy from Marshall and Rebecca. As with our other grandchildren, they are very close to Evelyn and me and we to them.