Oops!

"How was children's church today? " I asked our young kids on a crisp, January Sunday.

"Fine," Kimberly and Kent piped in unison.

I probed with a more open ended approach, "What did you learn?"

Without hesitation Kimberly announced, "We learned about New Year's revolutions."

Our smiles prompted Kent to offer, "I think it's called New Year's revelations, Kimberly."

Not to be outdone by her younger brother, she concluded, "No, you're wrong, Kent. I remember now. It was New Year's reservations!"

Oops!

Mistakes are not limited to children. I was shopping in Target last year and spotted an item. Here it is displayed this season in our music studio.

Spot anything unusual? Look closer.

As a writer, I tend to edit anything I read. This Oops is hard to miss. Mind you these blocks are glued together, so it was assembled this way, in China, according to the label. I took the $14.99 decoration to the manager at the register.

"Ma'am, if you'll mark this down, I'll buy it."

She looked at it and laughed, "How about half price?"

I looked at her and laughed, "Nobody's gonna pay you $7.50 for this. I'll take it off your hands for $3.50." Done deal...Cha-ching!

Weeks later we had family gift opening and Katy gave me a beautiful Christmas plaque.

Notice anything here? Check the grammar closely.

Oops! Unlike the YerrM Christmas, this was not one of a kind. Hobby Lobby sold them in mass and apparently no one edited! Everyone needs a good mentor-editor. Mine was Jack Williams. Hey, Jack! They could use you in China!

I like imperfect things because they fit me. Christmas and New Years are great times to be reminded that mistakes, even failure, happen. But our Redeemer redeems and makes beauty from ashes. That's why He came. His mercies are fresh daily not just annually!

"The Christian life is like photography. God develops us all from negatives." Failure is not final.

So if you find yourself failing at your New Year's revolutions, revelations or reservations, just get up and try again.

Some very well known, historical characters are experienced at falling down and getting back up! They get by with a little help from their friends.

Check out this video, shot outside Big Lots:

You have a Friend, Who sticks closer than a brother.

YerrM Christmas and Nappy Yew Hear!

Kathy

(Ahhhhh...spoonerisms. Now that brings some stories to mind...another blog, another day.)

MY BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER!

Of course we all know the answer is Jesus. Sometimes the Sunday school answer really is right. But I guess this blog title really means the carnal gifts we get from each other. Or from Santa.

As a little girl, I might have told you my best gift was a doll. She’s a beautiful Madam Alexander doll from Mama and Daddy…I-I mean Santa. I still have her, a collector’s item. Her feet are hinged 3 ways for flats, pumps and high heels.

She came with a skate trunk full of handmade clothes. Not bought clothes. A dear friend of Mama’s, Mrs. Ruggles, worked for months sewing, trimming with beads, painting…yes, one dress is hand painted. As a child I adored it all but couldn’t fully appreciate the handwork and hours of love it represented. I played with her for many years before relegating her to the attic and marrying my real doll.

Before Mama died, one year she re-gifted my doll to me. My collectable had collected dust, her clothes faded and musty in storage at Mama’s. Two more of Mom’s dear friends, Miss Katherine and Miss Geneva, joined in Mama’s surprise. They sorted, repaired, washed, mended and ironed each piece. Mama then layered them back into my red and white trunk, separating each outfit with crisp, white tissue paper.

THIS time, as an adult, I DID fully appreciate the gift and labor of love. I even wrote the real Madam Alexander and CEO before she died and inquired about buying replacement shoes (all were missing) for the unusual 1950-something doll. She mailed me several pairs, gratis. (If you're interested in seeing the doll and some of her clothes, check out the photos at this blog's end. Men, you don't have to wade through that here!)

But I’m not a little girl. So my answer today would be different. My best gift arrived unexpectedly two years ago just before Christmas Day.

As our three children married, had kids and moved away we knew there might come a season when everyone did not make it home. Doug and I had just spent a week at Kent’s house celebrating with Katy’s family too. Kimberly and John had recently moved to Minneapolis and could not make it home. This was the first Christmas we’d ever celebrated without everyone there. Bittersweet. For her. For us.

Weeks prior, I was determined to make it as good for them as I could. I packed 3 large boxes full of gifts, candy and love notes for each of the 6 family members. Abstentia celebrations stink. But at least during December, they’d open a package a week from home.

Whenever we chatted on the phone, Kimberly sounded a bit sad, but resigned. I kept up the fake cheerfulness, for her sake. Then I’d hang up and cry a little.

Even though our week at Kent’s was great, I dreaded coming home to our empty house. It drizzled the 3 hour drive back…matched my mood. We stopped to sale shop a bit (for next year.) I meandered through the store, dragging my feet. Doug waited patiently, playing with his new Blackberry. “Just checking my email.”

Finally home, I lugged bags into the dark house, Doug on my heels with suitcases. As I entered the dark living room, he turned on the light. I spotted a huge box in front of the unlit tree.

“What in the world?” I wondered aloud. Oh, Doug probably bought some lawn furniture and left it for me to find, knowing I’d be sad today.

"Doug, do you know about this?" I kept probing.

He didn't answer so I stooped to read the tag:

“KATHY,

WHAT WOULD YOU MOST LIKE FOR CHRISTMAS? OPEN THIS BOX TO LEARN HOW WISE SANTA CAN BE.”

I spun around and looked at Doug’s still expressionless face. He KNOWS what I want most. And it CAN'T be.

My heart pounded. Afraid it was a joke, I warned, "Doug, you better not be messin' with me..."

Then I heard music coming from the large box. Very softly voices sang, “I’ll be home for Christ---mas. You can count on me…”

I muttered something about "my children", wishing out loud. I held my breath as Doug lifted the bottomless box. Inside I found...

Well, just see for yourself in this video (turn up your speaker volume):

"Kimberly, you're home. How in the world did you get here?"

Oh yes! My best Christmas gift ever was very carnal. Our family in the flesh! As I hugged my 4 precious grandchildren, I spotted their sneaky parents in the dark kitchen, video camera in hand, taping through their own tears and laughter. Kimberly passed the camera off to John, who finally put it down when I demanded a hug.

They drove 2 hard days to surprise me. Weeks went into planning it with Doug. Packages I’d so carefully wrapped were never mailed. Doug took them to his office instead of the P.O. He’d open each then describe on the phone, “Kimberly, tell her you got the candy garland and loved the red sweater and…”

Hours before this, while I meandered the store shopping, Doug phoned Kimberly to be sure they’d arrived at our home.

“Yes, we’re here. All unloaded. Van’s hidden down the street. Box is out, Daddy. Just let us know in time to put the kids and tape recorder under there.”

“She’s still shopping.” Checking email my foot!

They even had time to go to the grocery store, stock up and cook supper.

Yes siree! Family, food and I didn’t have to cook. I submit…does it get any better than this?

Maybe. But that’s called The Marriage Feast of the Lamb. And when Kimberly was three, she promised the Lord she'd bring the tea!

He was made flesh to dwell with us. We were created to dwell forever with Him. Now THAT will top my best gift list!

Blessings!

Kathy (See Dolls and Clothes below.)

Doll and clothes

This is the Madame Alexander doll "Santa" brought me in the 50's...a little worn, for all the love I gave her. This blue satin, beaded dress was designed by Mrs. Ruggles after watching Queen Elizabeth's inauguration on TV. Someone must have narrated the color since television was black and white back then. Every bead was hand sewn on gown front and train.

The skate trunk was brimming with gorgeous doll clothes that fit like a glove.
The suit has a straight skirt and an A-line and even a matching hat. This is called an Eisenhower jacket, named after Mamie, President Ike's wife. These 4 pieces are fully lined. The pink gown trimmed in cream lace was a copy of a dress worn by Dinah Shore on The Dinah Shore Chevy Show. "See-eee the USA, in your Chevrolet..." Anyone remember that theme song?
These are hand-painted. Mrs. Ruggles also made identical Christmas aprons for me and Mama to wear.
And what fashionista would be complete without a toreadore outfit and red satin evening gown!

She even whipped up a "fur" stole and muff. The pink-lined opera coat became more of a Little Red Riding Hood outfit in my childlike imagination!

As I rummaged through the clothes I found another Madame Alexander doll from Mama. Only this one was given to each granddaughter on her first Christmas. I'm not sure if it was Kimberly's or Katy's. My daughters will have to settle that themselves! Mom thought MA dolls had beautiful faces. I think hers was the most beautiful! Thank you, Mama, for wonderful memories!

JOY TO THE WORLD

November fills our house with Christmas music coming from the studio, where three of us teach piano four days a week. My dear friends, Trudy and Phyllis, prepare their kids for the annual Christmas party/recital, our Finger Food Festival.

Last year I reminded them that our business is Christian in nature because we are His children and these kids are entrusted to us. "As you teach, feel free to meet the needs of your students beyond the music lesson. Some days they come in here hurting. That one-on-one time may mean they need God's love from you more than a G scale. Let's just be sensitive."

One Friday Cheyenne, a beautiful girl, came in for her lesson. Phyllis assigned and taught the seasonal songs then let her go to lab time.
That means the student dons a headset, listens to the orchestrated version and plays along with the digital keyboard. Hopefully good rhythm and accompaniment skills develop. It's more fun than the metronome of my childhood lessons!

While her protégé worked, Phyllis sat nearby on the other piano, playing Mary, Did You Know?

Removing her headset, Cheyenne listened attentively to her teacher playing, then asked, "Mrs. Parker, what's the name of that song?"

"It's Mary, Did You Know. Do you like it?"


"Yes ma'am." Also a lovely singer, Cheyenne probed, "What are the words?"


Phyllis sang then began to explain phrases like


Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy would one day walk on water? ...save your sons and daughters? ...that your Baby Boy has come to make you new? This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.


...will give sight to a blind man? ...will calm the storm with His hand? ...is the Lord of all creation? ...will one day rule the nations?


When you kiss your little baby, you kiss the face of God.



Did you know that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect lamb? The sleeping Child you're holding is the great I Am.



What happened next was simply the most natural sharing of Christ, as Phyllis led Cheyenne to the Lord.


Both had tears in their eyes, as the Christ of Christmas became more than a song...Emmanuel, God with us.


When Mrs. Jones, a believer and school teacher, came to pick up her daughter, Phyllis invited her into the studio.


"Nichole, can you come in for a minute please? Cheyenne has something to tell you."


"Ohhhh no..." came the wise mother and veteran teacher's suspicious response.


Laughing, Phyllis added, "Oh don't worry. It's good news."


THE Good News.


Fear not! For behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people..."


...and especially to Cheyenne today.


Joy to the world. The Lord has come!
May He fill your Christmas with His rich


Blessings!
Kathy

BORN AND BORN AGAIN

Hurrying a five year old is like nailing Jell-O to a tree or trying to push a chain. Our Kent was no exception. He was due on Christmas Day and came a day early. That's the last time I remember him being early as a kid.

That April night I started the bedtime routine. PJs, potty, brush teeth, say prayers…SCREECH!

Problem with his slowing down the process was that I was in labor. I NEEDED Kent to fall asleep and quickly. His sister was on the way. But he didn’t know that.

“Mom, before I pray, I was just wondering something. Does God hear us when we did something wrong that day?” He wanted to talk about prayer, God, sin and salvation. I gradually realized this was the moment. Kent was ready to get saved!

So I did what any good mother does. I called his father.

“DO-OOOUG! Better come in here…quick, Honey!” I knew Daddy would love that privilege of leading his son to the Lord.

Baby Katy arrived in the middle of the night. Next morning Kent called his grandparents beaming, “We got TWO good newses at our house last night!”

Good news indeed to have one born and one born again the same night. God ushered our son into the fold just before he became a big brother.

Following the Lord in baptism took a little more time because of his fear of water. Swimming lessons at the Y with his big sister, Kimberly, came later. We’d talk now and then about Jesus’ baptism as He set our example.

One day Kent asked, “Well, how old was He when He did it?”

Uh-oh. We may lose points here. “Um, well...He was 33, Kent.”

A smile swallowed up his face, “Wow! Then I can wait a lo-oong time and still be like Jesus, huh, Mom?”

He did and he was. Still is.

A few years later his daddy also had the privilege of baptizing him. “I baptize you my son…and now my brother, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”

Even after that, his walk with the Lord grew as naturally as his adolescent frame. One day as he watched TV, he absent-mindedly answered the phone with, “Dear Heavenly Father…” Mortified at his own words, he dropped the phone, dashed to the sofa and pulled the afghan over his head. (Yes, that orange, gold, green and brown one in the above photo. My dear Mama, Kathryn Tippett, knitted it for us when those colors were oh so chic!)

I laughed as I picked up the phone to rescue him. I had no idea who was on "hold" nor what I'd say on Kent's behalf. Whoever it was had just been addressed as dear heavenly Father. I was pretty sure it wasn't Him. Kent and I were both relieved to hear his Aunt Gwen on the phone, laughing too, “Well, I’ve never been given such a greeting before!”

Today his full 6’5” frame stands comfortably on his church stage every Sunday, cradling his guitar.

As a worship leader he’s still following Jesus’ example, praising his dear, heavenly Father.

Timing is one of the hardest things I teach my piano students. It can be challenging in life too. But God’s timing is always perfect, no matter how it feels to us in the moment!

Order my steps in Your Word, oh Lord. Lead me, guide me every day.

Blessings!

Kathy

Read blogs about Kent's swimming lessons and baptism at:

http://kathyhenderson.blogspot.com/2009/07/poolside-lesson-no-no-i-cant-she.html

http://kathyhenderson.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-is-my-beloved-son-our-only-son.html

MERRY XMAS

Taking Christ out of Christmas...

X = the Unknown Factor...

Politically correct: Happy Holidays!

You've heard it all before. But Christmas two years ago, the rhetoric became real at our house. Christ was taken out.

Doug's capable carpenter hands worked several seasons building a nativity scene. Finally complete, we set it out across our front yard.

The wind blew some pieces over, so he chained together the large plywood figures and staked them into the ground to secure them.

Every year my piano students perform Christmas music for their families at our annual Finger Food Festival. The party atmosphere is far more palatable that recital mode!

Decorations up, lights on, punch bowl filled.

Then just before everyone arrived, Doug came home and noticed, "Baby Jesus is gone!"

"WHAT?"

"Stolen I guess. Some of the other figures were flat on the ground, Kathy. I put them back up but the chain was broken where the manger was."

Startled and saddened, but with no time for either, I welcomed our houseful of students and guests.

"You may have noticed our scene out front is missing the Centerpiece..."

I went on to share that the world takes Christ out of Christmas, but we each face the choice about what we'll do with Him. The Unknown Factor does not have to remain unknown.

"Emmanuel means 'the strong God with us.' He wants a love relationship with you. If He's in your heart no one can take Him away."

Let the music begin! Delicious food was spread and shared. Guests left. Clean up time. The doorbell rang. Probably a student forgot something.

When I opened the door, a stranger in a suit and tie stood there holding the wooden Baby Jesus in both hands, offering it to me. I gasped and hugged the tall, black man. "Thank you! My goodness! What..."

My questions and his answers ran together in one waterfall conversation.

"I'm your neighbor a few streets back. This morning at 5:00 AM, I left Florence for my job in Charleston. Large pieces of white wood were strewn in the street in front of your house. They blocked my way. So when I got out of my car, I realized someone trashed your Nativity scene. I laid them back on your lawn. About a mile away I spotted something white in a ditch. It caught my eye because it looked like the same thing I just saw."

He explained that he pulled onto the shoulder, went to the ditch and lifted the manger. Knowing we were sound asleep, he placed it in the trunk of his car.

"I figured I'd bring it back to you after work. I'd have been late to work and wakened you this morning."

"Oh, that's fine! I'm just so glad you found it. Thank you. Thank you so much."

When I took it in and showed it to Doug, he was amazed and offered, "I can sand and repair the scuff marks."

"No. Let's leave it as is."

He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him. And with his stripes we are healed..."

Our Prince of Peace. He came to save.

I didn't expect His return that day. Do you?

Blessings!

Kathy

SITTIN' & TALKIN'

When you think of the best of times, your very most wonderful moments, what comes to mind? Roller coasters soaring? Vacations at the beach?

Christmas family gatherings?

Being lost in a hobby?

The birth of a child or grandchild?

For me, it’s just sittin’ and talkin’. (Leaving off the g’s gives it that necessary southern twist.) I’m a simple gal. Add a frosty glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and it’s my cherry on top. Memories waterfall in my mind, spanning childhood to grandmotherhood.

It jump started as I read an excerpt my younger brother, Ricky, gave me. It was from a book by Rev. Thomas DeWitt Talmage, titled What Are They Doing in Heaven? This sermon from the late 1800's speculates that we’ll be doing enlargements of our passions, hobbies and jobs on earth. He mentions musicians, artisans, explorers and scientists all pursuing what God planted in them to do, love and discover. Only amplified in glory. I love that because it's what I teach at church--discovering who you are in Christ!

One particular quote sparked thoughts of me leisurely chatting with Bible characters about their old, old stories. Talmage also dreams, “O! What a place to visit in. If eternity were one minute shorter it would not be long enough for such sociality.”

Such sociality? Isn’t that what I saw on my report cards as Area Needing Improvement? “Kathy’s social skills may be over developed, interfering with study.” Over developed? Interfering? Maybe. . .here. But oh, one day–one very long, eternal day–it won’t be a criticism but the core of me having the time of my life, my eternal life!

My misty, water-colored memories are sittin’ on Papa’s side porch, ice cream churns turning (not electric ones) as the Tippett clan talks all at once. We actually can do that and hear at the same time. It’s a skill. We’re genetically predisposed. Or sitting on my other grandparents’ back porch, fly swatters in hand, Stricklands chatting and laughing uproariously at funny, family stories. No one ever chided, “Oh, I’ve heard that one before.” The joy was in the repetition. They sensed it etch deep lines of belonging into our hearts and knit us together.

I remember lazing in porch swings, holding babies, speaking a cooing language only they understood. Best of times!

Being rocked by Mama in a red, vinyl rocker. Not all talkin’ is in words. I still hear it in rhythmic, squeaky springs. I feel it in the steady motion and strokes of love, wordlessly soothing, healing. You’ll feel better soon as your fever breaks.

Rocker talkin’ time with Mama might be soaking up Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems.

A birdie with a yellow bill

hopped upon my window sill,

Cocked his shining eye and said,

“Ain’t you shamed, you sleepy head?” Translation: Time to wake up, Kathy.

How do you like to go up in a swing? Oh Mama, I still love swings!

We all grew up. But the sittin’ and talkin’ came with us. Front porch conversations flowed as seamlessly as ocean tides at Emerald Isle. A few family members at a time chatted, porch-sittin’ on pale yellow rockers. Our extended family cords shortened for that one, glorious week a year. Best of times.

Sometimes my social skills were set free on car trips with my husband, Doug, as we held hands and talked for hours without interruption. No phones, no doorbells. Just us. Then all talked out, the hand holding alone became our conversation. His love language is touch.

Now with children and grands scattered between 2 countries, I might say, “Honey, it’s been a good day. I talked to all 3 kids and several of the grandchildren on the phone today.” Granted, it’s not as good as porch swings, rockers or face to face, but OK for now. . .until then.

At this point in life I’m learning to slow down as a human being. God never made human doings. As a typical type A personality, for many years I lived by a To Do list. Sometimes after checking off items at the end of a busy day, I’d even add one thing I did, just to check it off! Pride measured success by accomplishments. Do, do! Go, go! Rush, rush! Frenzied life and ministry. It was neither some days. The great I AM is teaching me to just BE. Still. Know Him. In a relationship of love.

Hasn’t this always been buried my heart? My love language is quality time, togetherness, conversation. My Creator planted hospitality and teaching within me. Sittin’ and talkin’.

Eternity involves Him on a throne. Sittin’. Music, worship, praise. Talkin’.

Both are part of my favorite days.

Spiritually for me, the sittin’ means ceasing from the To Do list, resting, taking time to look and listen without noise or motion. Sometimes that’s harder than working. The ticking clock lures me away. Harnessing a busy mind into silence takes submission, letting go of my agenda. Just being. Being content. Being at rest. Being at peace. Being His. Being loved.

Talkin’ is the other best part and that stream flows 2 ways. With humans we mannerly take turns but with God, well…it can be different. It’s not always rude to talk at the same time. I play keyboard with a Christian, jazz band. When jazz musicians play, it’s like everyone talks at the same time, weaving in and out, deferring to the lead but enhancing, improvising, complimenting it. You listen but play simultaneously. The tune evolves, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts and the song is never quite the same again. It’s not totally scripted, written as other music. 

Listening and talking, prayer and Scripture can couple together in a beautiful orchestration between God and me.

Draw me nearer, nearer. . .till my will be lost in Thine. . .I commune as friend with Friend!

Last spring on an idyllic cruise with my 2 brothers and their wives, we had several best of times together. One especially curled around my heart, even in the moment. We found a little cubby of sofas and chairs that we claimed and made into our own living room. Squatters’ rights! Sittin’ and talkin’ freely brought laughter, tears, eventually culminating in prayer. I confess. I peeked and saw Bert’s hand resting on Ricky’s hand over his knee. Two brothers, two cancer victims. Even now it makes me tear up. Big brother hovering over little brother. I nudged Doug and pointed for him to take a picture. Can you capture a small view of eternity through a glass darkly? Probably not,
but we tried.

Another sittin’, talkin’ time around the lunch table, Ricky acknowledged that Bert’s cancer may well take him to heaven before us. In hushed tones, he leaned toward his big brother and asked him to tell Mama something for him. Holy moment. Two kingdoms overlapped.

Then almost apologetically he added, “Is that morbid?”

In unison we chimed in, “No.” Actually we shared a special moment, living together with eternity in view. Life trumps morbidity!

I like what Bert shared with us from Dr. Joseph Stowell’s book, Eternity. We assume we’re in the land of the living, heading for the land of the dying. In actuality, it’s just the opposite.

My best day is yet to come. An eternal day. Over developed social skills? No, I think maybe my social skills are under developed on earth. So much to learn about just sittin’. So much to learn about conversation, listening, talking without words…from the heart, soul talk, spirit communing. Eternity will finally stop the ticking clocks that rush and demand us.

Mama once told me, “Kathy, you have 2 gears–wide open and neutral. You better be sure you spend enough neutral time to balance out the wide open pace.”

I’m learnin’, Mama. But you better get the red rocker started up there in heaven. Have Daddy pull it near the throne. It’s going to take eternity, not one minute less, for such sociality!

Blessings!
Kathy