Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Hendersons at Play '10



Last week 20 Hendersons gathered in Kinston, NC, where our son, Kent and his gracious wife, Mary, hosted our vacation week. Their kids, Sean, Caroline, Ryan and Sarah welcomed their cousins.

Kimberly and John traveled from Minneapolis, MN, with their 4 (J.D., Blake, Elizabeth and Benjamin.) Katy and Dave drove down from Canada with their 4 boys (Andrew, Caleb, David and Jordan.)

Turn up the volume, click bottom right to enlarge the screen and enjoy our family video!


One day later Katy called with, "Guess what! Our #5 is on the way! I'm due in March."

Better get my wall-stretcher ready for next summer!
Kathy

Thursday, July 22, 2010

UNTOLD SUFFERING SELDOM IS!

I've asked Kermit to be my guest today and share a life lesson with you. But first let me vent a bit!

As an optimistic realist, I seldom gripe. But like anyone, I have my pet peeves. Some are petty, others may be serious. Today's soapbox is brought to you by the former...petty, not Richard.

Gripers! I hear so much complaining but it seems to flow from the same mouths in a continuous stream, no matter the day or occasion.

"How are you today, Mrs. Thompson?" I insincerely ask after church.

"Well, my colon's impacted again, " (imagine a nasal whine) "...and my diverticulitis is acking up 'cause I ate some corn..." she sincerely drones.

Did I ask for an organ recital? I smile my best there-there look. It seems to feed the flow as she moves from one body organ to another, moaning her way through.

So the next Sunday, I try another approach. I'll plant positive, subliminal messages in my greeting this time. "Good morning, Mrs. Thompson!" I bubble. "You look wonderful in those pretty colors! Spring must really be agreeing with you!" I smile. Too big. Too hopeful.

The familiar, whiny drone begins, "Not really. Springtime is turrible on my allergies. Then the drainage gives me insomnia so I'm turd as well." I agree. Silently.

What I WANT to say, but can't, except here, is:

* Call 1-800-WAH-WAAH.
* Would you like some WHINE with those cheese and crackers?
* Yadda, yadda, yadda...
* Do I LOOK like I care?
* You've mistaken me for someone who gives a rip!
* Your husband just moved to the top of my prayer list.
* Do I look like a venting hotline?
* Did you learn Whinese or is it your native tongue?
* Quit being a whiny butt. (One of my sons-in-law says this. Don't worry. I won't say which, John.)
* Your tunnel vision gives you I trouble too.
* Oh, I'm so sorry. My mind wandered for a moment there. I was thinking about the sermon on death and hell. Would you please repeat the part about your toenail fungus?
* Shall I call a WAHmbulance for you?

Now I realize we all have tendencies. Some are toward good things, but others are negative. I'm blessed with a naturally optimistic outlook. But on those days when everything has a blue cast I CHOOSE CHEER. On the flip side, I'm naturally drawn to food--too much, the wrong kinds, fast food. My struggle there may be harder than some folks, but I still CHOOSE what goes in my mouth, as surely as I choose what comes out!

Everyone has a reason to sing the blues now and then. Even Kermit the Frog. Well he sings the greens, but learns to cope with his feelings and spin them!

In griping about gripers here, I may have just crossed over to the dark side. I'm choosing now to go back to the Light, to praise, to not speak every negative thought but bring it into captivity, to pray for the mind of Christ to be in me.

But there's still a carnal part of me that wishes on Sunday, I could whip out some duct tape and slap it over Mrs. Thompson's mouth soon as she opens it! In a loving, Christian way of course. Bless her heart. (In the south duct tape fixes everything and you can get away with saying anything, if you anoint it with Bless your heart.)

The Gospel According to,
Kathy
KJV - Kathy, just venting

Maybe Kermit can teach me a little about kindness!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

HWJD

Mrs. Lilly, 3rd grade teacher at a Christian school, sat in the cafeteria and overheard two 1st graders chatting about another teacher.
Her attention riveted to them when one child said, "My teacher drove me home yesterday and I heard her say a bad word."

"Oooo. What did she say?"

"The I word."

"The I word? I know the D word but I don't think I know the I word. What is it?"

Leaning in closer, she whispered, "Idiot! She said it to the man in the other car."

"Oooooooo."

Ever notice that drivers slower than you are jerks and those who zoom past and cut you off are idiots?
Recently I found myself behind a jerk and instantly became an idiot myself. Within mere seconds I felt frustration fuel impatience and suddenly ignite into anger. This wasn't my usual driving experience and I had no reason to hurry. So why was I driving like a NASCAR racer? Control. Isolation. Selfishness. All the ingredients for road rage come standard with POWER steering. Such combos have actually resulted in death.

Now of course we would never take it that far but the seed of frenzied driving can sprout up in us anytime. When I felt it, I immediately had one thought, "How would Jesus drive?" It was a hard question to force myself to ask, but the answers were easy. I took every impulse through that thought all the way to Curves and then back home.

Results:
* I immediately slowed down to the speed limit.

* I moved over into the slow lane. Me! In the slow lane.

* I stopped changing lanes trying to find the fastest moving one.

* When someone wanted to merge, I smiled and waved him in.

* I stopped on the yellow light, instead of accelerating. The car behind me honked so I turned around, waved (with all five fingers) smiled and shrugged.

* I gave up the best parking space to another driver. We exchanged friendly smiles and nods.

* On the way home I thought, "Jesus would probably use this time to talk to His Father." So I prayed. I even found myself praying for other idiots and a few jerks.

* My tension melted into peace. My racing changed to relaxation. My breathing and heart rate slowed to a comfortable, not driven, pace.

* I arrived home in the same amount of time but at a totally different place.

* Probably even saved a little gas!

That little self-imposed driving lesson revealed some things to me about me. Areas I might have said, "Yeah. God's dealt with that issue. . ." once again find dormant roots and rear up. Seems that driver's seat behind the wheel is fertile ground. Little remnant sin-weeds of selfishness, impatience, disobedience, control and anger easily sprung up.

I find it much easier to let someone ahead of me in the grocery line than on the road. Why? Maybe because face-to-face I want your approval. The anonymity in my car might be a smokescreen for my real heart. If character is what we do when no one's looking, the car may be the true test.

The measuring stick of my character might come down to simple math. The speed limit is 45. So I set my cruise on 50 because that's a safe number to prevent a ticket. Right? Wrong! It's breaking the law by 5 mph. HWJD? Ouch!

Hm-mmm. . .me and God got some more work to do. Sanctification is an on-growing process.

Maybe one day in heaven, speed and time won't be a temptation. Jesus transcended time and space in His glorified body, after the resurrection. I surely do hope my new beam-me-up-Scotty-body will instantaneously get me from one place to another one day. One day!

Sometimes knowing WWJD might be foggy but while driving (HWJD) my choices were crystal clear at every junction. I challenge you to this litmus test of your spirituality.

Lord, help me to drive in the Spirit, and in so doing, truly walk in the Spirit.

A little less driven,
Kathy

Thursday, July 1, 2010

I DID TIME IN GUANTANAMO BAY

I did 2 years there. Seriously! Sometimes being the class clown costs you credibility. But Daddy was a Naval officer for 32 years and we truly spent two of them at Gitmo in Cuba. Those were my pre-adolescent years and some of my life's best memories!


Before Guantanamo Bay became a dirty word, infamously associated with terrorists, it was our home. We felt like we landed in paradise, a two-year tropical vacation.



We'd watch free movies in the balmy outdoor theaters. There was plenty of time for hobbies. My older brother, Bert, took up photography and I was his model.


He developed this shot in the base's hobby shop darkroom. Daddy took up carpenty and I still have some of his gorgeous pieces furnishing our villa.


"Children! Come outside! Quickly!" Mama called from our front yard. We came running as she pointed and gasped, "Look at that!" Our eyes followed the tanned line of her arm to her finger and beyond. What we saw was layered beauty: a flame tree with red trumpet flowers bursting like fireworks across the street; beyond that stretched the aqua Caribbean water flowing to the horizon. The sunset was ablaze with coral, pink and orange splashes, against an azure blue sky, dotted with white puffed clouds. It truly was God's majesty, proclaimed in nature like we'd never seen.

Evening after evening she'd step out and call us to come see God's daily masterpiece. Her enthusiasm never waned, though ours did. She once asked a Cuban lady, "Do you ever get used to it? Your beautiful sunsets?"
"Qué, Missy?" Gringos can be weird.

They probably do take it for granted just as we do our blessings. Running water from clean faucets would make Haitian mothers clamor, "Children! Come look!"

The gate between the US Naval base and the Cuban side
Life was slow on the base. Literally. The speed limit and base size restricted pace and movement. I don't know what this means but you mechanics will. The carbon built up in the cars because they ambled along at 20 mph. So occasionally folks drove them out to the gate at warp speeds of 50 mph to blow out the carbon.

Everyone shopped at the same commissaries (groceries) and exchanges (hm-mm...kinda' like department stores but smaller, less fancy.) So when you got birthday cards from friends, you got a lot of the same one. Easter dresses met themselves Sunday morning all through the base chapel.
Mama would sit and listen to me try to play the huge chapel organ before school weekday mornings.

The chapel. There were only two services--Catholic mass then the altar rotated for Protestant church. Baptists, Lutherans, Church of God, Methodists all worshipped together.

Bill Burnett, a single sailor, played the huge pipe organ for chapel. He gave me some informal instruction. Our family adopted him and other young sailors away from home and kin. Sunday nights found them in our living room for sandwiches in a place that felt homey.

One day a fair-skinned, redheaded Cuban teacher brought some elementary school children from Havana for a day on base. Her father, a Baptist minister, had a church school and Gabriella Molina was their music teacher. Both she and Bill were trained (in America) pianists.

Cliches are not part of good writing. They made beautiful music together. That's no cliche. Four hand duets on classical pieces rang out for any ears in the vicinity. That led to more visits, a romance and eventually a wedding.

My 12-year old eyes and ears couldn't get enough of either the music that played from our home on my piano or the love story unfolding before my wide eyes. They inspired me to practice piano like never before.

For Gabby, her nickname, marrying Bill, however, would mean leaving her country, family, friends, beloved church and school. Communist Cuba would never allow that so she came one day on a pass but never returned. She defected with only her purse in hand.

There was a civil ceremony to satisfy the legal requirement of two countries. Then a chapel wedding was planned for a few days later. Her family got one-day passes to come. However, they were stopped at the gate when the Cuban guards recognized formal attire, her sisters' bridesmaid dresses. When Gabby realized they would not make it, she smiled and said, "Let's proceed."

"Kathy, would you step in for my sister and be my maid of honor?"

Tearfully I said, "Of course I will, Gabby, but..."

"No buts. It's going to be a happy day!" she beamed.

It was. She and Bill radiated joy but there was not a dry eye watching.




At their reception, suddenly her family appeared. They'd been released to come, too late for the ceremony but not the joy. Spanish and hands flew like firecrackers as they greeted and hugged each other.





We watched silently and saw one relative after another reach under their clothing and pull out a fork, a serving spoon, a butter knife. They'd smuggled her silver across the line and presented it to her, piece by piece. She in turn gave them white cloths. We watched them wad up the fabric then bend down to rub them in the dirty driveway.

Puzzled by the sight, someone asked and the answer came, "They're cloth diapers. They can't get them in Cuba so they're making them look like rags. Hopefully the guards won't confiscate them when they return home tonight. It worked!

It took several years and continents, via Spain, but eventually Gabby's family also left Cuba and made their way to America.

As a little girl, I learned valuable lessons about family, music, love, freedom and joy from my very own hero and heroine, Bill Burnette and Gabriella Molina. They were my living Ken and Barbie!

So this 4th of July, I'll sing more than a song. I'll sing the prayer:
God, bless America, land that I love.
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with a light from above.
From the mountains to the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam.
God, bless America, my home sweet home.

Amen.
Kathy
Don't miss Celine's stirring appearance here.