WHERE'D YOU GET THOSE PEEPERS?

"Have any of you ever opened and peeked at your Christmas presents early?"  I asked the group.

The crowd divided like Democrats and Republicans!  Until then I never realized how aghast the No!-Never's were towards the ones who dared confess.  I fall into the latter group.  We figured everyone did it.  But the good-little-Do-Bees scowl at us like it never even crossed their pure, little minds to sneak a peek before Christmas Day.

Our first born daughter, Kimberly, must have acquired her nimble fingers from me.   She apparently found a box in my closet and carefully peeled back the tape to find a beautiful white, angora sweater embroidered with pearls.  Replacing it, she sneaked out without being detected.  Sheer joy of anticipation had her giggling the next few days.

Christmas family time began with our tradition of reading Luke 2.  The gifts were handed out then we took turns, youngest to oldest, opening one at a time.   Kimberly had a pile of gifts so she was totally shocked when she spotted her cousin, Karen, tearing into the very gift she'd pried open earlier.  She wanted to exclaim, "Hey!  That's mine!"  but saw the name tag and realized her beautiful sweater was never hers.  Years later she shared her pain and lesson learned.

Kimberly peeking FROM a box before she learned to peek INTO one!

                                                              

Karen, a peeker herself, had a different experience.  She was much younger than Kimberly and probably less skilled.  Her spying must have left evidence because her mother, Dianne, found the box and realized Karen had been tampering.  "Karen, did you look at this gift?"

Karen, the innocent years

  

Wide-eyed, she lied, "No.  I didn't seen it."

"You didn't?"

"No ma'am.  I just felt it," she continued her tangled web, "and it FELT red."  In her youth, she figured feeling a gift might not be as bad as actually seeing it. 

A few weeks ago during our Thanksgiving dinner the subject came up again in conversation and our daughter-in-law, Mary, came over to the dark peeker-side with other stalwart women of the clan.

We all agreed that we spoiled our own gift opening by peeking early.   Usually one peek cured us!

Here's a pictorial peek at our Christmases past.

Kent & Kimberly

The Hendersons

Kimberly, Katy & Kent waiting on my signal

Bert, Dianne, Brian & Karen

Our Raleigh home (Top) and my folks' down the street

Mama & Kimberly
I love this shot of them--both so beautiful!

Christine, Kimberly, Karen & Katy
(about the time of the angora sweater episode)

Daddy & Katy in his favorite chair, tall man's Lazy Boy

I hope your Christmas week was as blessed as ours.  It has been through the years.  And if I could "PEEK" into our future, I believe the best is yet to come because. . .

"God has planted eternity in our hearts."

Celebrating,

Kathy

NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING

The parties were over.  The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and we were headed to bed on a cold winter's night.

                                                  (Enjoy feeding our Christmas fish here for your entertainment!)---->

                                                                                                                                                                   

  

The crisp Virginia air only added to our Christmas anticipation.  Maybe we'd actually get a white one this year.  This was the furthest north we'd lived so to us five Hendersons it was as Currier and Ives as it gets.

From fall season. . .
. . .and into winter!                                                                          

We even strung popcorn into a 20 foot garland to deck the tree.  The living room looked like an old-fashioned Christmas card.  Of course these were my Williamsburg blue, dotted-swiss and geese years.  What WAS I thinking?



Nestled in bed, I awoke to a bitter breeze through our upstairs bedroom.  The house was dark and quiet as I tiptoed downstairs to check the thermostat.  I hope we don't have heat pump problems.  Every step took me and the temperature lower until I saw the front door standing wide open.  The cold wind whipped at my gown as I gathered it in my hands.

Next day view after the storm blew in

Staircase another day with Katy

As I rounded the landing, I reached to close the front door.  Suddenly I spotted two red eyes peering at me beside the Christmas tree!  I froze.  So did he.  Staredown in blackness!  Finally he blinked and the huge body came rushing towards me.  I screamed and felt him brush right past me out the still gaping door!  My heart raced as I realized it was our golden retriever, Honey.   Apparently we failed to secure the door and the storm blew it open.  The dog took it as an invitation.

I shut and locked the door, checking it three times, then turned on the living room light.   The Christmas tree looked strange.  What's missing?  HALF OUR POPCORN GARLAND!  That stupid dog had eaten his way around the tree as high as his mangy head could reach, enjoying a midnight snack.  Hours of family labor now digested in his round belly!  Retrievers retrieve!                                                                                                                                                                    
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Honey, feeling slightly guilty. . .

. . .but quite satisfied

                                                                                                                    

The wind.  My scream.  The door closing.  The lights on.  My brave husband, my hero, slept through it all.  Who says a dog is man's best friend?!

  

At least it wasn't the kids who did it. . .                           












. . .or worse yet, if we'd had a cat!






When you try out new Christmas recipes this year, let me advise you. . . HONEY and POPCORN are not a good mix!


Like my Doug, sleep in heavenly peace,
Kathy

NOT sO HOLY NIGHT

Blake, Elizabeth and J.D. Christmas Eve

"Welcome to our annual Christmas Eve service," Pastor Mike greeted the quiet congregation.  "Tonight we'll share communion a little differently, as families.  Please come to the altar and take the moments to remind your family of Jesus giving His life for us.  Pray, sing, read Scripture, do whatever you choose to worship together.  Then take a candle, light it and begin to line the walls of the sanctuary until all have been served."

It was truly a holy night as one by one the families came to the communion table and reverently took the bread and wine.  The darkened room began to glow as each moved to the back walls.

 

Earlier in the service Doug led us in Silent Night.  It was not to be.

Our family's turn came.  Doug spoke, "John, Kimberly, it's so good having your family here to share this time with Mom and me. . ."  As John held baby Elizabeth he took the sacraments then closed our time in prayer.

Then he whispered, "I'm going to slip out with Elizabeth.  She's getting restless."  So we took our lit candles and joined  the congregation as John went out.

John is a hands-on dad.  Benjamin came later.

John reads to Blake.

Earlier in the service he'd done a powerful monologue, Trouble at the Inn.  His dramatic portrayal was an emotional reminder of the grace we've received.

I took my place against the wall as other families made their way to the altar.  Their quiet sharing was not heard but we felt the intimacy before God.   Then a man's voice broke through the silence singing.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining

I looked at Doug beside me and without a word asked with my eyes who that was singing.  He shrugged.

It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth

We both squinted to see the family up front.  Non-singers.  No lips were moving.  So I asked Doug, "Is anyone in the sound room?  Is it a track?"  He shook his head no to both questions.  We tried to look as holy as our dripping candles.  

The voice was familiar but no one in our church sang like that.  It was definitely coming through the speakers and crescendoed with each phrase.  

Fall on your knees

O hear the angel voices

O night divine,

O night when Christ was born. . .

The voice singing acapella literally bounced off the walls.  The reverb defied all the padded pews and carpet around us.  It had that rich singing-in-the-shower sound we all hear when we're alone!  Suddenly as the high notes came the voice changed keys, dropping a few steps.

O night divi-ine

O night, O night divine.

Suddenly I recognized that key-shifitng voice and mouthed it to Doug.  "John!"  Our son-in-law has a rich voice but when it gets too high, he has a habit of dropping to a more comfortable range, even mid-song!  Doug's eyes panicked, driving out any semblance of reverence.

"Where did John go with the baby?" he asked me.  We both suddenly realized that John had left his lapel mike on and was off somewhere singing to Elizabeth.  And the whole church.  But he didn't know that last part.  In his mind this was just a fatherly lullaby.  He began verse two as Doug blew out his candles and rushed out into the not so holy night in search of the baby and John.

Surely He taught us to love one another

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

By now I was trying not to laugh out loud.  I whispered to our pastor's son what was happening.  "This will make a good memory.  One day."  He joined me in trying not to laugh.  It's always harder in groups. Families continued to take communion and line the church with candles.  John soared on the second chorus, dropping to yet a third key.  He was getting very comfortable now.  I was not.

Fall on your knees,

O hear the angels' voices. . .

Just as John reached the last high phrase, Doug reached him. . .in the church gym.  Like a third base coach Doug silently signaled and John frantically cut off his microphone.  Sans the last phrase.  The congregation looked mildly confused as to why the music suddenly stopped.  I breathed again, thankful John never slipped into 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.  We sing strange songs to soothe restless children!

Did I mention that John teaches college?  Oh, and my son-in-law almost has a doctorate.  He's ABD  (all but dissertation.)  Did I tell you he teaches speech and drama and that remembering to turn off microphones after performance is second nature to him?  Well it is now.

Have a not so silent night!  They're so much fun!

Kathy

The Grainger family today at home in Minnesota.

Elizabeth in later years and quieter moments.

LADY AT DUKE

     
Rev. Gordon Sebastian told the true story about the lady in his church.  The local doctors in Wilson, NC, tried to diagnose and treat her but were unsuccessful.  So they sent her to Duke Diagnostic Clinic where the nation's most brilliant minds conferred that day on her case.

Gordon recounted, "Early that morning she was placed on a table in a back examining room while blood was drawn and tests were run.  More tests, more doctors.  Intrigued, the physicians met several times.  They discussed her case and worked together until late afternoon, pouring over X-rays, analyzing test results.  Still alone on the table, she waited but no one came.  Finally a janitor found her there and told her everyone had gone home."

Everyone was so busy working on her case but they forgot about HER and left her there.  How can professionals do that?  Probably the same way we Christians get so busy in the Lord's work that we forget about time with Him.  We leave Him in a back corner of our lives, intending to go see Him but working FOR God replaces being WITH God.

I've done it.  More than once.

Some things are easy for me:

• busyness
• checklists
• being on-the-go
• talking
• organizing
• activity

Other things are difficult for me:

• stillness
• silence
• solitude
• rest
• listening
• doing nothing

Yet when I do the hard things, I can "Be STILL. . .and KNOW GOD" and I find that "PERFECT PEACE" when my mind is STAYED on God.  The old hymn is familiar to sing but harder to live:  "STAYED upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blessed, finding as He promised perfect peace and rest."

"Be not WEARY in WELL DOING. . ."

Schedule time with God

• often
• alone
• long

A recent devotion indicates I'm not the only one to leave God strapped to the back table of my life at times.

So Dry and Thirsty

"If you knew . . . who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

John 4:10, NIV

While the woman of Samaria and I have many differences, we have one thing in common. I, too, find myself from time to time running on empty.  In the busyness of ministry, the weariness of activity, the excitement of opportunity, I sometimes wake up and realize, "I am so dry and thirsty." Invariably, when I examine myself, the reason for the dryness of spirit can be traced to one thing. I'm not drinking freely of the Water of Life. I'm neglecting my Bible study. I'm rushing through my prayer time. I'm not listening to the voice of the Lord because I'm just too busy to be still. At those times I carve out quiet interludes to confess my sins and read and meditate and pray and listen and just drink Him in.

Aren't you glad that well of Living Water never runs dry, even when we do?

Blessings!

Kathy

TRUCKING WITH GOOD HUMOR

Granted, the title of this blog is a lousy play on words but you're still reading and if you continue, it might make sense soon.   The musical sound of the ice cream truck drew us kids like ants onto the sidewalk.  I don't remember seeing an actual Good Humor brand but that didn't matter.  It simply meant sweet, cool yumminess on hot summer days.   

A smile is a curve 

that sets everything straight.

Phyllis Diller

More recently I heard the truck during the summer when our grandkids were here.  My eyes lit up.  Theirs did not.  So I asked, "Do you hear that?"

"Yes ma'am," placidly spoken.

"Do you know what it is?"

"Music?" they obediently responded.  (They must think Nana asks the most stupid questions.)  When I realized they didn't know, I introduced them to their first treat from the Good Humor truck!  Don't know why but it tastes better when you pay too much and get it delivered to your house with music!

For a good part of my adult life, that word humor gave me problems.  I knew it was built into my personality but it didn't seem to fit my role as minister's wife.

Humor is a wonderful way to prevent a hardening of the attitudes!  

 Joel Goodman

So I wrestled with it, tried to squelch it, muffled it but mostly in vain.  I'd still spurt out ridiculous statements at what felt like inappropriate times.   It wasn't that anyone glanced at me in disapproval.  They usually laughed.  But inside I felt like a big mouth who needed a personality transplant more aligned with church work.  

Love may make the world go round,

but it's laughter that keeps us from getting dizzy.

Donald Zochert

We served with many pastors over the years and some of their wives were soft-spoken, meek, submissive with grace and gentleness.  I was not.  I was the church Good Humor truck in high heels.  And I fought it.  

In this world, a good time to laugh

is anytime you can.

Linda Ellerbee

During our 20's and 30's most of us are learning to accept ourselves.  Sometimes, however, we define ourselves by roles--wife, mother, our job.   By the time you reach your 60's there's a freedom and joy in who God created you to be without straight-jackets of roles.   Several pastors and friends helped me hurdle the 40's and 50's of my life into self acceptance.  But one pastor went beyond that and actually applauded my humor as something the church needed.  He found me to be a blessing.  Thank you, Dr. Mike!

Humor is a presence in the world--like grace--and shines on everybody.

 Garrison Keillor

                                                               

That sounds strange even to me now.  But I truly never realized that my sense of humor was something God did on purpose for a purpose.  I subdued it.  He ignited it.  My pastor helped me release it.  As I studied spiritual gifts, this didn't seem to fit.  But then I researched encouragement and found it there!  Voila!  God didn't goof with me after all.

A person without a sense of humor

is like a wagon without springs--

jolted by every pebble in the road.

Henry Ward Beecher 

Like any gift or personality, I still have to control and sometimes tame it.  I tend to say funny things when I probably should not and  laugh louder than anybody.  But part of the process is learning how to embrace and use my humor to appropriately bless others.  It may be as simple as causing a friend to laugh under her load, writing a silly skit for church, bringing a word of encouragement through a joke, or finding the absurd in a dark moment.  I no longer struggle with this part of me but it's taken years to journey here.

I realize that humor isn't for everyone.

It's only for people who want to have fun,

enjoy life and feel alive.

Anne Wilson Schaef

Several of our grandchildren inherited my funny bone.  One of them KNOWS it, so he's far ahead of me on his journey.  He trucks right along in good humor.  Meet Katy and Dave's Andrew.

                                                                        

                                                                                                                            

I've sprinkled quotes on humor throughout this blog.  They may be inappropriate to the text at any given point.  Which IS my precise point.  As you walk through your day, use whatever God gave you to bless others.

Like a welcome summer rain,

humor may suddenly cleanse and cool

the earth, the air and you.

Langston Hughes

"Be of Good cheer!"

Jesus & Kathy

PAPA AND THANKSGIVING

Dad in his yard

Our house

So many Thanksgivings!  So many turkeys! So many family gatherings over the years!

They meld except for one particular time at Mama's house in Raleigh, NC.  We still had three kids at home and my folks lived down the street from us.  Our grandparents, Papa and Grandma Tippett, lived about 45 minutes away. So a large clan was coming.

We prepared the dinner together so I came to her house early.  "Mmmmm, smells good!"  Her kitchen always did but especially on Thanksgiving Day.

"Kathy, you know Papa doesn't like turkey.  Did you make him some chicken?"


"Not exactly. . ." I stalled.

"How do you not exactly cook chicken?"  Mama probed.

"I got a plan.  No chicken but another small platter.  I'll take some of your turkey and arrange it on a special plate to present to Papa."

"Uh-oh.  You're heading for trouble, Kathy," Mama warned, backing away from me and culpability.

Dad, skeptical, stayed a safe distance.

Every Tippett knew Papa didn't like turkey.  "Never tasted it but I know I wouldn't like it."  Maybe because he raised chickens but his picky tastes had never been tested.  Until this Thanksgiving.

Dinnertime filled the table with Tippetts and food, both overflowing.  After Daddy asked the blessing, he passed the turkey around.  I rose, went to the kitchen and came back with the special platter.  "And just for you, Papa, CHICKEN!" I proclaimed a bit too enthusiastically.  My dad watched as his dad took the plate from me.  When he speared the dark meat and took a mouthful, we watched without a word.  He chewed and chewed, finally swallowing.  We looked like a Normal Rockwell painting with only one moving person.

Papa peered at me, pursed his lips and squinted, "Kathy?  Did you cook this?"

"Yes sir," I gulped.

"Best chicken I ever tasted!" he declared.  Reprieved!  We all sighed and enjoyed the meal.  Papa even asked for seconds on the best chicken he ever ate!

He's in heaven now with Mom and Dad.  Did we ever tell him?  Absolutely not!  And I hope some truths are not known even in glory!

Thankfully,
Kathy
Pictured below are other family times.

Family Christmas at folks'

                                  

                                        Papa was a cock-fighter!  Wyatt Whitaker was his cohort in violence.

Papa Tippett

          

Daddy

Mom and Dad with Katy at our house

Gwen and me with Papa

Grandma stealing sugar from Papa