PERFORMANCE TRAPS

Before Sunday worship service, I was talking to the Lord and He began to step on my toes. I needed reminding once again about The Performance Trap.

I first heard the phrase about 15 years ago. Let me share just four traps (my own specifics) that often snare folks within their own churches, me included. Somehow we think of the church as a sanctuary, free from traps. The fallacy there is that church is not a building or a service time. It's me! And Satan still prowls to steal, kill and destroy. So Sunday morning is prime hunting season for him.

#1 DUTY

As a military brat, I thought the word duty had a good connotation. However, in the Lord's work it's easy for me to "perform" solely out of duty, obligation. This trap snaps us when our emotions are out of whack sometimes. "I don't feel like going but. . ." Other times we perform out of duty when we're physically weak or sick. Now I'm not saying that we shouldn't overcome our emotional or physical struggles and serve God. We should but if duty alone becomes our habitual motive, it's a performance trap.

I go 'cause I gotta, shoulda, oughta. . .for the kids. But my heart's not in it. We don't usually carry the thought that far. But that's where God's looking, at our true heart motives.

#2 OTHERS, LORD, YES OTHERS

Those words from an old song pretty well describe this performance trap. We can use church to perform for the expectations of man. What others think of us or see becomes a priority. Church can become a strictly social or benevolent service. Sure. Ministry involves both.

Yeah, I gotta serve in the nursery 'cause I don't wanna let Mrs. Johnson down. This trap often comes camouflaged because in a sense it's for others. While our gifts do help others, that bottom line motive again must come down to love for the Lord. Then "even a cup of cold water in My name" becomes pure. Sadly, some churches actually use this guilt-tool to enlist folks into jobs, rather than allow God to call and equip them for ministries.

Satan loves to shift those 2 gears from pleasing Jesus to pleasing others, from God's approval to man's. Makes us feel good too when we serve others! Oops! Now that crafty one just shifted things into reverse, Makes ME feel good. You Others Jesus When we aright our priorities to Jesus Others You, we get joy. Joy is the result, a by-product, however, not a goal. It's not all about you, or even others!

  

#3 PERFECTIONISM

People in the arts often and easily fall prey to this performance trap. It sounds good on the surface, "I just want to sing it perfectly for the Lord!" Problem is, there are no perfect musicians, but One. Perfectionism sets us up to fail eventually.

Excellence is a good goal. "I want to do my best for the Lord, the Perfect One." Scripture endorses "skilled musicians." Even then our best will fall short but He accepts our widow's mite when it's all we have to give, meager as it may be. As musicians we hear the wrong notes; as technicians we feel badly when the sound system screams feedback or the computer cues are missed. Preachers hate to trip over hard words. They practice what they preach (literally) to prevent mispronunciations. Makes us looks bad. Oops! There it goes again. I trouble sneaks up when everyone looks at our mistake.

Refocus on Him and they will. You're not perfect. He is! Perfectionism, even excellence, can even become a false measuring stick for success. God works in our failures and weaknesses as surely as He uses our best.

#4 ALL THE GLORY BELONGS TO ____________ (fill in the blank)

The most insidious performance trap is the one that actually uses the local church to promote self. It too can come disguised as service but the heart is about self-glory. Musicians are not the only ones prone to step into this trap. I've heard musicians say, "I got a standing ovation. . .they didn't clap today. . .10 people have asked me to sing again."

While the stage itself is fraught with traps, this trap snags background folks too. I knew a man who actually worked the congregation just before deacon election, "Be sure to vote for me!" When he wasn't elected he got mad, quit choir and eventually left the church. Another musician served for years with us but when he was not voted in as a deacon, moved to a smaller church where he could reach his goals for office. Hmmmm and being a deacon is about serving. . .

Identity being found in what we do, how long we've done it or how much we know is a common trap both on and off stage.

Churches applaud and laud the visible or long-time servants. This trap is no respecter of persons and can even plague pastors, Sunday school teachers or organists. It subtly subverts to prey on pride. Be careful accepting praise. Be careful heeding criticism as well. Both extremes root in self-focus.

* * *

There are probably other performance traps. I'm most familiar, sadly from experience, with these four. Avoiding them is not a one-time effort. It takes a close heart examination almost daily.

If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.

You mean if I have a fight with Doug before church, but put on my best hypo-crite (under-mask) smile and play keyboard anyway, He won't hear me? Yep. Heaven will hear a cappella singing even while my fingers play the piano on earth.

You mean if I look at porn Sat. night then sing my solo Sunday, the Lord won't hear my voice? Yep. You have your reward when you hear someone say, "Great job! Loved your song." But for eternity, one solo turns into wood, hay and stubble.

You mean after all my study and teaching my class, just because I talked about someone, a little harmless gossip, the Lord doesn't count that Sunday school lesson in glory? Yep.

The Lord will not HEAR me. That covers more than our prayers.

I want Him to hear me, accept my praise and service. I want HIS approval. Then I want to one day hear His, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." Don't you?

Then guard your heart!

Kathy

MISS FRANCES, MY IDEAL

Miss Frances Graham Player, age 80, holds a special place in my heart. She's a precious friend in our church who had cancer last year and during that trial, realized she did not have a relationship with Jesus. She'd joined the church many years ago, attended faithfully and even worked in ministry. Her fear of death took her safely into the arms of Jesus, from religion to relationship. And she'll tell you so now! She also wanted to be re-baptized to joyfully testify to God's healing, both spiritually and physically.

Her son, Tommy Graham, is a music teacher at a local elementary school. He sings beautifully and also plays trumpet in our praise band.

That same Sunday evening we shared a meal at church so when I spotted Frances I hugged her and said, "Oh Miss Frances, it was such a blessing seeing you get baptized this morning. How did you manage to not even get your hair wet?"

"The preacher does it fast," she laughed. I think hairspray might have been a contributing factor.

Mary Lee Anderson winked and teased, "Kathy, tell her we all saw her leg when her robe floated up, didn't we?"

"Nooooo," I soothed, as Frances grinned. Wanting to stir up my OWN mischief, I whispered, "But when you climbed up the stairs I DID see your underwear through the robe!"

Back at me in a flash, she loudly assured, "No! You did NOT 'cause I wasn't wearing any!"

Now I gotta tell you that was the last thing I expected to hear from this genteel, Southern belle with perfectly coiffed hair. But she was quite serious. I'm seldom speechless but this was one of those startling moments. Mary Lee eventually told me that she was wearing a bathing suit under her robe.

A few minutes later we sat eating together with her son, Tommy, his wife, Sharon, and several church members. Pastor Mike plopped down at our table about that time. "Frances, may I tell them what you just said?"

"Sure. When you're 80 you can say whatever you want and you don't much care what folks think of it!" So I told them. Tommy buried his face in his hands, muffling, "MA-AAAMA!"

Pastor Mike guffawed and his head bowed straight onto the large round table where we all sat. We laughed and enjoyed the meal then Sharon asked her mother-in-law, "Mom, did you remember to take off your hearing aid before you got in the water?"

"Sh-hhh! SHARON, HUSH! Don't tell everyone I wear a hearing aid!" Frances scolded. She was quite serious about that too. "I can't believe you just told everyone!"

Some things are private. Some things are not. I'm learning that age determines those lines of demarcation.

Most Sundays I hug Miss Frances and she laughs and asks, "Are you checking me?"

I run my hand around her waist and chide, "Yes! Somebody needs to!"

* * *

A follow up story came a few weeks later. Frances' son, Tommy, had a sudden heart attack. Doug and I rushed to the hospital as soon as we heard. He'd just come out from bi-pass surgery, still heavily sedated. We talked with his mother, wife and sister until Tommy murmured, "What's all the racket about?"

We circled his bed, holding hands, praying aloud. It reminded me of our regular Sunday morning circle of prayer after rehearsal. He lands in the middle of the praise band and team. As he makes his way out of the middle into the circle, I often tease him, singing, "The cheese stands alone. . ."

This day, however, Tommy was flat on his back but not alone in that hospital room. He never opened his groggy eyes but squeezed my hand, just like Sundays. After we prayed, just before we left, I leaned over and whispered, "Tommy, this is Kathy. I have just one question."

"Aww-riiight. . ." he muttered, his bass voice an octave lower than usual.

"When you arrived at the ER, were you wearing clean underwear?"

He chuckled like a drunk, smiled lopsidedly, eyes still closed and came right back at me, "No-oooo. I wasn't wearing any! Like mother, like son!" His sense of humor was intact, right along with his big heart!

12.15 UPDATE on Tommy:  Cancer took him to heaven, where he now plays trumpet with Gabriel and sings with David. Tommy, we love and miss you still.

Miss Frances works in our church daycare, The Wee Center. What blessed children to be loved and rocked by her! As you can see, she holds center stage with the staff as well as with me!

Miss Frances is my ideal. I want to be just like her when I turn 80! I guess it all Depends!

Over the hill and gettin' there,

Kathy

DADDY RESCUED ME!

I was probably in 3rd grade at Mary Calcott School in Norfolk, Virginia. Somehow I sprained my skinny ankle and limped along the hallway after the dismissal bell rang, telling no one I was hurt. But I soon realized I could never walk the usual 4 blocks home. Home was 315 E. Chester Street.

So I hobbled into the office.

"May I please use the phone to call my Mama to come pick me up?"

Someone handed it to me so I dialed JU-35516. (JU was for justice. I'm amazed I remember this.)

Daddy answered, "Hello."

I clutched the phone close to my lips so nobody would hear, afraid I would cry, "Daddy, I hurt my ankle and can't walk very good. Can you or Mama drive here and pick me up?"

"Kathy, Mama took the car and won't be back for awhile. Can you get out to the front of the school?"

It was just a few more yards, "Yes sir," I sniffed.

"Then go there and wait. I'll do something."

Something. But what? When? How?

I don't remember how long I sat there on the retainer wall at the top of the school steps peering for a blue Buick. All the other kids were long gone. I sat there quite alone.

I saw a dot coming my way but it was too small to be our car. As it neared I realized it was just someone on a bike. Finally I saw the long legs pumping that girl's bike and recognized the lanky figure coming my way.

It's Daddy! He's riding my bike! Coming to rescue me!

I limped down the steps to meet him. He probably looked quite silly as a tall Navy man on an undersized kid's bike. A girl's at that! He didn't care how he looked. But to me he looked like a knight in shining armor, galloping on a white stallion. Few words were said. He just smiled and nodded for me to mount on back.

I was about 3 years old in this earlier shot but you can clearly

see why he earned his Navy nickname, Legs Tippett.

As I wrapped my scrawny arms around his waist and clung, I finally buried my head into his T shirt and cried softly. "You OK back there, Sis?"

"Yes sir." I am now.

Daddy's broad shoulders blocked my view all the way home. I felt the sway as he rounded corners, heard the rush of cars around us, felt the wind dry my tears. Felt safe, even if not yet home. Daddy's long legs pumped, knees flying high until he got me home.

If Daddy was still alive I doubt he'd even remember that day. But I've thought back on that afternoon many times.

Ricky and I loved posing with that old Buick.

Easter Sunday Ricky and Bert with me at 315 E. Chester St.

There've been times life slammed me so hard I couldn't walk another step. My heavenly Father came to my rescue. But when I first cried out, I still wondered what? When? How? It may not have been in the way or time I'd expected but He was never late. I clung to Him, blinded by my own tears. God often blocked my view. I couldn't see the future or understand the reasons for my pain. But I trusted Him because He loved me like Daddy. He'd keep me safe, get me home.

I had a godly father who gave me a good picture of a loving God, my Abba Papa. You may have had that or not. But the perfect Father is available to you. He knows your hurts, loves you more than His own life and wants to come help you. He just waits for your call.

Call. Cling. Trust.

He'll get you home safely.

Eventually.

If you're impacted by this blog or the following video , please leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9GWhSndmf0

Leaning on the everlasting arms,

Kathy

MY DAY IN COURT

Coffee? Check.

Biscotti? Check.

Jury Summons? Check.

Reader's Digest? Check.

Only thing not checked was my email and facebook. Scrolling through status updates, I spotted my friend from church, Laura Edgeworth's two word post: JURY DUTY.

I scurried out the door yesterday and dialed her cell as I drove. (I know, I know, Oprah. I shouldn't. But I did.) "Laura, this is Kathy. I just read you have jury duty. Me too!"

"You're kidding?"

"No, I'm on Irby St. now. Where are you?"

"I'm on the Pamplico Highway. Which court?"

"Magistrate. Let's meet outside the lobby and sit together. This could actually be fun!"

We'd recently tried to schedule lunch but kept missing each other. My civic duty suddenly felt more like an adventure. Laura is like fun on steroids. Her own mother, Ernestine (my Sunday school teacher) even says she should be a Christian comedian but that the word comedian should come first.

We dovetailed at the door and together approached the guard and metal detection arch. I was scanned first then the uniformed authority figure took my purse with, "Ma'am, I have to search your bag. . .make sure you don't have a machine gun in there."

I handed him my pink and lime green purse with Scripture embroidered on it (a very threatening satchel) and joked with him, "Well, I packed my portable machine gun today so it'd fit in there."

In the flash it took to say that, Laura's horrified face reflected my own tardy thoughts, IDIOT! Keep your mouth shut! You don't kid with guards! Especially in government buildings and airports! (Laura has first hand experience with airport security. However, she learned from her wand encounters. No underwire bras on court or travel days. But that's another story, one she needs to blog!)

My guard laughed.

HE LAUGHED. Whew!

Laura and I took our seats in the quiet, packed courtroom. She did not want to serve. The man on my left did. "I'm Benji, like the dog," he introduced himself. I wasn't gonna say that. But I thought it. The southern gentlemen of a judge gave the "jew-raws" instructions. Obediently one by one, all 200 of us stood methodically, stated our names, jobs, spouse and spouse's job.

The nervous, bumbling man behind us stood up, dropped his keys to the floor and shattered the respectful silence dominating the room. Above the jingle jangle as they clattered to the floor, he stated his name and added, "I'm a comedian." I pivoted to see if he was kidding. Not even a smile.

I whispered to Laura, "He's serious. Did he drop the keys for shtick? If so, he should have tripped over the chair. Would have been funnier."

Trying to be invisible my good friend glared at me, threateningly, "Hush. Or I'm gonna hurt you."

"Laura, do you think there's such a thing as an employed comedian in Florence?"

"SHHHHH!" she scowled.

Laura truly did not want any attention, lest she have to serve her country, the land of the free and the home of the brave! She's such a coward.

I chided, "Laura! You should be proud to do your civic duty. What kind of American are you anyway? Humph! I bet you don't even love your mother or apple pie either!"

Eyes straight ahead, she grimaced, "I adore apple pie."

I raised my eyebrows in an I'm-gonna-tell-your-mother way, reached in my purse for pen and paper. Then I warned her, "I'm taking notes here and gonna write a blog about all this."

Laura quickly whispered through gritted teeth, "Oh awright. My mother's OK too." She's scared of Ernestine. She adores her too but won't admit it.

"Laura, this does not substitute for us doing lunch. It's stifling my conversation."

"Not much!" she reprimanded.

Benji's mother-in-law was also in the jury pool but he said, "No, it's not a problem. I like her. We get along fine." When she stood up he pointed her out to us.

My turn. I popped up too eagerly, "Kathryn T. Henderson, piano teacher. My husband, Doug Henderson, is a minister."

Benji handed me his business card with, "Call me. I have a son. Do you teach 8 year-olds?"

Another lady stood, stated her name then said, "Homemaker. My husband, Jim, works for the FBI." The whole courtroom audibly gasped and collectively created a vacuum in the already stuffy room.

"She may as well go home," Benji grinned.

Then they started choosing jurors case by case. Both sides had 6 chances to reject any juror. No one wanted Benji nor Laura but I was selected. Though I'd dreamed of saving the world from a rapist or murderer, I discovered that magistrate court is not about that. It's more about saving the world from a lousy roofer or when countertops go bad. My son asked if that meant there could be a counter suit. I take it for granite, Kent. My ideals and optimism about this whole event waned by the time I was selected.

One lady behind me was called upon to stand three times and all three times she was rejected. Her quiet expletives ranged from, "Oh crap!" the first time. Next time she stood, I heard "Oh hell!" (Her words, not mine.) Finally on the third time when she was rejected, she flopped down with a barely audible, "Thank You, Jesus!"

I leaned over to Benji, "I think she just got saved." He guffawed. Quite audibly. Laura glared, almost audibly. "So help me Kathy, if you mess up my mojo, I'll get ya!"

Finally it was over. I was to come back for the trial next morning at 9 AM. We passed my guard again. "Hey! Laura! Take a picture of us." More relaxed this time, she complied.

Then outside the building Benji introduced us to his mother-in-law and we got more pictures.

It was almost noon so Laura and I finally did lunch at Applebee's.

I finished up a piano lesson about 5 PM and stepped out to see my adult student, Linda, off as I was telling her about my day in court. She's retired from working at the courthouse so she laughed with me. Suddenly I looked across my neighbor's yard. Stepping out of a white car was a uniformed guard, his badge gleaming. "LINDA! That's him! I believe that's my guard!"

Am I dreaming? Maybe I'm getting arrested! I bet he's looking for me!

Linda followed me toward him and said, "Oh yes, he is the guard there. I know him."

"He-eeeey! Yoo hoooo!" I shouted to him, trying to look very non-machine-gunny. He squinted trying to recognize the crazy lady coming at him. In my most innocent voice, I continued, "I was at the court house today and had my picture taken with you!"

Might as well surrender and plead innocence before he spots me.

He flashed a smile brighter than his badge and grabbed me in a genuine hug. I felt his Kevlar bulletproof vest as he smiled, "I thought you looked familiar. We neighbors!" We introduced ourselves and all three chatted awhile.

Then this morning at the courthouse, when I saw him again, we were long lost friends. Neighbors actually. Who had to have their day in court to get acquainted. "Donnie, I'm sorry that we never met. I'm ashamed at being such a poor neighbor."

"Well, I haven't gotten over to meet you either."

"Then YOU should be ashamed too!" I safely teased. We agreed that Doug and he waving was about all folks do these days. But we also noted that something has been lost since front porch chats took place years ago. Maybe that's part of civic duty too.

God gets me. So he used my day in court and humor to bring me full circle, teaching me what it means to "Love your neighbor as yourself." It starts with meeting them!

I'll do better, Lord. Just don't let me get arrested in the meantime.

Free! Free at last!

Kathy

P.S. QUOTES ON SLEEP

A few days after posting my last blog on naps, I decided to catch up on some reading. I found these quotes on sleep in Reader's Digest (May '10.) They seem a fitting addendum.

No day is so bad it can't be fixed with a nap. Carrie Snow (comedian)

A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. Charlotte Bronte

All the sleep I ever needed is five minutes more. Wilson Mizner, playwright

How blessed are some people whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams. Bram Stoker, Dracula

There's a new type of alarm clock on the market. It makes no noise. It uses lights and gets brighter and brighter until you wake up. I already have one of these. It's called a WINDOW! Jay Leno

I think sleeping was my problem in school. If school had started at four in the afternoon, I'd be a college graduate today. George Foreman

A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book. Irish proverb

You can hit my father over the head with a chair and he won't wake up, but my mother, all you have to do to my mother is cough somewhere in Siberia and she'll hear you. J.D.Salinger, Catcher in the Rye

Z-zzzzzzzzz. . .

Kathy Henderson

SUNDAY NAPS

I don't know if it's a Baptist tradition or a Henderson thing but the only day of the week we nap is Sunday.

Doug was especially tired because he'd not slept well the night before. So I asked, "What time do you want me to wake you up?" He had three hours before church but assured me he'd not sleep that long.

"Well, you're tired, Honey. You might."

"OK. Wake me up at 4:30. We'll leave for church at quarter to 5."

My thirty minute nap ended and Doug was just getting started. So I puttered quietly for a couple of hours. He slept on until I crept in to wake him. His mouth was gaping as he snored, blending with the white noise streaming from the noise maker. I turned it off and the room was silent and quite dark. He still didn't move.

I hate to startle him awake. He looks so relaxed.

I leaned down about to kiss him awake. Suddenly he opened his eyes, stared straight into mine and screamed, like a girl! No, wait that might have been me because I screamed back! We scared each other into a yelling contest! It wasn't the gentle wake-up call I was going for.

On the way to church, our heart rates back to normal, I probed, "What in the world was THAT about?"

Laughing, he recalled, "Well, I was dreaming that I was driving and merging onto the interstate. I woke and suddenly there was a great big..."

"Hold it right there, Buddy," I interrupted. He needed forewarning. "The next word out of your mouth could be hazardous to your health."

Stammering, he finally spit out, "A-a gr-great big...NOTHING!" He thought he was safe.

"So I'm a big nothing? That's not good either, Doug!"

We laughed all the way to church. Later he explained that he saw my face and thought it was in his windshield and he'd hit me with the car!" All that mutual hollaring kinda felt like I'd been hit!

I found some nappers among our family so maybe it's a genetic trait we share. These go back 5 generations!

Sarah and Nana (me)

Doug & Kimberly

Kent

Kimberly going. . . going. . .

. . .GONE!

Doug & Kimberly

Kent & teddy bear

Doug

Ricky (almost gone)

Daddy (must have been a Sunday nap--notice dress shirt and tie!)

and his father, Papa Tippett

When you meet the love of your life, it begins with friendship. That grows into love and commitment. But you know, that friendship base is still the part of marriage I most cherish. Doug's my best friend. We laugh together, share life's ups and downs together, scream together!

He's my great big. . .

hearted FRIEND!

FACTOID: I read that the bullfrog is the only animal to never sleep. I guess when you kiss him and get your prince, they need naps!

Going gently into that dark night,

Kathy