Kat's Pause

Baptism Trilogy

2012-01-27T00:01:00.002-05:00

True stories often make me laugh more so than fiction. When I remember one, my brain usually links to another. If I conjure up 3, I think, "Trilogy! It'll blog!" Fusion of the funny bone!

Now I fully respect the ordinance of baptism. But I've been involved in ministry long enough to also realize things don't always go as planned. This is especially true for Baptist style baptisms. That's immersion for you non-Baptists. They naturally lend to better stories! Here's my 3-parter on the subject of baptism.

STORY #1

This one happened to Doug and me as we sang a duet one Sunday morning at First Free Will Baptist Church in Newport News, VA. After verse one we heard water splashing behind us. As the spattering continued down the choir steps from the overflowing baptistry, we went on to sing verse two. Splattering crescendoed and so did we.

The faces of panicked deacons scurrying, teenagers guffawing and Pastor Tag Kilgore snickering clued us in. We didn't need to turn around to know what was happening. We're experts on the obvious!

Someone filling the baptismal pool forgot to turn off the water. The waterfall headed for us and our corded mics! Water and electronics. . .not a healthy combo.

I thought Doug would stop singing to save us from electrocution but he bellowed us into verse three and a coda. Meanwhile, I wondered how painful this death would be, how long it takes to fry and if it would ruin my hair for my own funeral!

We finally ended the special music. Special indeed! Tag came to the pulpit as someone turned off the water. He laughed, "Doug and Kathy, I'm sure that was a good song but no one here heard it. Why don't you sing it again tonight after we mop up the floor."

STORY #2

Back in the early 70's women wore curly hairpieces from the crown of the head, cascading down to the neck. It gave an elegant updo without much ado. Rev. David Paramore baptized a lady and didn't realize she wore such a hairpiece. When she came up, her water-logged wig did not. She exited up the steps, not realizing she'd left a floating ball of fur behind.

David looked at it as if it was a drowned rat, then realized what it was. He picked it up, wrung it out slightly then handed it up to her. He did so in such a gentlemanly way, that he actually restored a bit of the elegance she'd left bobbing behind.

STORY #3

Years ago in Beacon Baptist Church in Raleigh, NC, a young associate pastor, Tim Rabon, was nervously performing his first baptism. The man being baptized was Bill Cheek, a strapping military man with a quick wit. Probably most of the congregation was empathetic on Tim's behalf. They sensed his mild stress at officiating his first baptism. I, on the other hand, simply saw a wonderful opportunity to join ranks with Bill, a fellow jokester.

"Say, Bill, wanna get one over on Tim tonight?"

"Sure, Kathy, " he laughed without even knowing quite why. "What you got in mind?"

"As you take the four steps into the baptismal water, the screen blocks you from the congregation's view. Only Tim can see you coming down until that last step."

"Ri-iiight?" he inquired as if for more info.

I handed him the snorkel, mask and swim fins but before I even fully explained, he got it.

The quiet service began that evening and the reverent Rev. Tim spoke into his lapel mic from the water, "This is a great honor for me tonight to baptize my very first candidate, Bill Cheek. " He turned his head to the right and immediately lost a bit of his reverence. He spotted Bill, flippers flopping onto the first step, snorkel and mask in place supported by a big grin.

Tim eyes darted back to his clueless audience. He stammered, "Um. . .uh, I wish you could see what I do, folks." But he really didn't.

On step number one Bill removed the snorkel. Into step two, he tossed the fins. Step three gave him just enough time to lay aside the mask. He stepped into the audience's view very pleased with himself, looking quite normal.

Tim sputtered and laughed. Alone. (Well, I was laughing too.) He didn't even try to explain to the congregation. He just got through it and carried an indelible, lifetime memory. Thanks to me.

As we age and look back on foolish decisions we made in our youth, sometimes we feel shame, even regret. Not me. Not this time.

Now you Methodists, Presbyterians and Lutherans, just try to beat that with your sprinkling stories! Another reason I love being a Baptist.

After I wrote this blog my brother, Ricky, sent me this true story. It happened in the very same church. So remaining in the Baptist tradition little Kathleen's first communion wraps up this unordinary ordinance blog.

~ ~ ~

In her daddy's words:

Many years ago when Kathleen was five years old we were sitting in the next to the last row in Cox Chapel. Kathleen had only asked Jesus into her heart a few weeks earlier

and this night was her first communion. When the deacon passed us the plate and we took a piece of bread, she sat there grinning from ear to ear, wiggling, waiting impatiently and just full of herself.

After a few minutes of this as we waited for everyone to be served, I leaned over and quietly whispered in her ear, "Right now you should be very still and you should be thinking about what Jesus did for you on the cross."

I went back to my own quiet prayer time with the Lord but in a few moments I heard sniffling. I turned to her to see tears rolling out of both eyes and immediately felt bad for correcting her. I asked, "What's wrong?"

To which she replied what I'll always remember, "I'm just thinking about what Jesus did for me on the cross that day."

~ ~ ~

So are we, Kathleen. So are we now.

Love,

Aunt Kathy

JUST GO AWAY

2012-01-18T00:01:00.002-05:00

This is not the post I'd planned for this week's blog. However, I came across something in my devotions that enlarges on last week's blog. (If you missed it, this might make more sense to you if you read it first.)

Drawing from my own experience, I found that the friends of mine who knew what to say, when there were no words, simply came to be with me and pray for me.

Part of my daily Bible reading right now is in Job. Coincidentally a daily devotion I read is Chuck Swindoll going through the same book. He shares a story of excruciating loss, with a similar message of how to sympathize (put yourself in another's shoes) and comfort (make the situation better.)

Some folks know how. Others don't. We all can learn.

Godly people like Job and Joe (in the story below) get down. Even folks like you and me get depressed when life is not fair or becomes desperately hard. Hopefully you have the kind of friend with whom you can let it out, be honest in your pain.

Or maybe you can be the kind of friend others need when they hurt. Job and Joe eventually wished their friends would just leave them alone. My desire is to see you move from being a person folks wish would "just go away" to becoming a friend who comes, sympathizes and comforts, sometimes without words or answers.

May God bless you on that journey,

Kathy

God's Presence in Suffering

by Charles R. Swindoll

Read Job 2:11–13

The book of Job is not only a witness to the dignity of suffering and God's presence in our suffering, but

it's also our primary biblical protest against religion that has been reduced to explanations or "answers."

Many of the answers that Job's so-called friends give him are technically true. But it is the "technical"

part that ruins them. They are answers without personal relationship, intellect without intimacy. The

answers are slapped onto Job's ravaged life like labels on a specimen bottle. In response, Job rages

against this secularized wisdom that has lost touch with the living realities of God.

The late (and I might add great) Joe Bayly and his wife, Mary Lou, lost three of their children. They lost

one son following surgery when he was only eighteen days old. They also lost the second boy at age

five because of leukemia. They then lost a third son at eighteen years after a sledding accident, because

of complications related to his hemophilia.

Joe writes in a wonderful book, The Last Thing We Talk About:

I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God's dealings, of why it
happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly; he said things I knew were true.

I was unmoved, except I wished he'd go away. He finally did.

Another came and sat beside me. He didn't talk. He didn't ask leading questions. He just sat
beside me for an hour and more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed
simply, left.

I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.

You have done it right when those in agony hate to see you go.

We must leave Job in his misery for now. We're mere onlookers. Had we lived in his day, there is

no way we could say, "I know how you feel." We don't. We can't even imagine. But we do care.

Our presence and our tears say much more than our words.

Words have a hollow ring in a crucible.

Reprinted by permission. Day by Day, Charles Swindoll, July 2005, Thomas Nelson, inc.,

What to Say When You Don't Know What to Say

2012-01-13T00:01:00.003-05:00

"Kathy, we just learned Larry has a tumor. They're checking for cancer but we're so scared. Please pray."

We often hear similar requests. For many years my reaction was, "Of course I will." And I really meant to. Sometimes I did. Other times I actually forgot to pray. So in essence I lied. Good intentions but I lied.

It all changed when I found myself in need of prayer. My friend saw the tears in my eyes, heard the quaver in my voice and responded, not with a promise to pray, but asked, "Can we pray right now?" As he prayed over me, the peace that flooded my spirit was powerful. This was no longer a conversation between two people.

From that day on, Doug and I often respond to requests for prayer by praying right then with the person. We ask and no one has yet to decline. When people hurt, they need help right THEN. We may not have answers but we know the One Who does. So taking a friend directly to the throne is a bold step in the right direction. I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV! But I can be an ambulance to the Great Physician.

I called Miss Frances, who'd been in and out of the hospital, dealing with a lot of issues. After hearing her share recent struggles, I said, "Can I pray for you right now?" She said yes and after I prayed, her voice was calmer.

A dear relative burst into tears recently on the phone, just overwhelmed with life stuff. We prayed right then. Reminded of what she already knew, she said, "I know God's. . ." and she began to list His care for her, overriding her own frustrations.

A parent of a piano student came early one Tuesday to get her son. She cried as she spoke of her mother, a recent stroke victim. My own mother and I had walked that path. "Roxie, can I pray with you?" Her son played softly as we went to God together right there in the studio.

Doug's dear friend, Jerry, was recently in ICU, fighting for his life. We phoned him. "Can I pray with you now, Jerry?" Doug asked his friend.

It happens at church or in Walmart, in public or in private, in person or on the phone. Part of my process was in seven things I discovered about prayer.

Short prayers are effective too! I harbored misconceptions that prayers need to be long or eloquent. Actually Jesus warns about lengthy prayer that's just for show. His model prayer takes less than 25 seconds. Try it. "Our Father. . ."
Praying is more important than promising. If I pray on the spot, I no longer lie to friends. In fact, they seem to be on my mind and prayer list later, more often after we pray together.
I should not being ashamed to pray in public. A brief prayer is still a conversation but bowed heads and closed eyes invite God into the need. This can be quiet and unobtrusive, not drawing attention to ourselves. I challenge you to go beyond restaurant blessings.
The impact on the person is immediate, powerful and worth it. If you dare try this, brace yourself for an emotional, appreciative reaction, "Thank you SO much." I know. I've stood in your shoes too.
When you don't know what to say, don't say anything. PRAY EVERYTHING! I just repeat the situation back to God and ask His help. It shifts the focus from a helpless person or circumstance to a caring, loving Father. Of course He already knows fully. Prayer is less about telling God our troubles than it is about reminding us to trust Him with them.
Peace is not an emotion. It's a Person. Go to Him. Quickly. Often after prayer, the stream of information changes from detailed problems to assurance it will work out somehow.
Prayer puts a period, not a comma, into the words. When we lift our eyes after praying, there's usually just a hug and a thank you. We took it to God together. We can walk away and leave it there. Some burdens are too heavy for our shoulders anyway!

Next time someone asks you to pray, pray. Right then, right there. It's not a preacher thing. It's a child of God to the Father thing. We are family. Run to Papa!

On my knees, on the hoof or on the phone. . . always praying,

Kathy

THE CALL

2012-01-06T00:01:00.017-05:00

Last year about this time I got in the car with my daughter, Kimberly, and granddaughter Elizabeth. We were excited as we headed out for those after Christmas bargains.

Moments later, still my driveway, I burst into tears as they wordlessly comforted me.

What happened to suddenly change my mood? A phone call.

"Let me call Uncle Bert first, girls," I said as I slipped the key into the ignition. His hospice care was wonderful and they knew he was near the end of his battle with cancer. As soon as I heard his weak voice, I knew too.

"You'll be home soon, Bert. I'll see you there. I love you." Those were my last words to my dear big brother. And I knew we'd just spoken our last words on earth. Even now my tears flow as I remember and write about that sacred conversation between this world and the next.

A few days later I was up alone. It was near midnight. The phone rang. The call. My dear niece, Karen, said softly, "Aunt Kathy. He's home." His call. By morning the family was once again in cars, going to Nashville for Bert's funeral. It was a celebration of a godly life lived full throttle for the Lord.

Last week on the phone to Bert's wife, I shed a few tears again as I told her, "Dianne, you know one change Bert's death made in my life?"

"What?"

"I long for heaven now. Sometimes I don't even feel like I belong here. My tent pegs were loosened."

She asked a very wise question, "Don't you think that's how we should be?"

"Yes."

I knew the last time on earth I was looking at Bert. In that hospital room, I couldn't stop kissing him. I knew on the phone a year ago that I was hearing his voice for the last time here. I couldn't stop crying.

We're not always given notice when death calls. Death impacts people in many ways. When I watch the national news or hear of horrible weather destruction, my mind looks beyond the mayhem. I long for a better place.

Right now the political scene is angry, restless, frightening sometimes, disillusioning most of the time. A phrase from Isaiah comforts me. "The government shall be upon his shoulders." Did you get that? The government shall be upon HIS shoulders! A perfect, loving, just King of kings will rule in peace.

Don't we all long for that?

Sometimes I tease the kids, "I won't be here much longer. You better be nice to me!" Or I might reverse it, "I better be nice to you so you don't push my wheelchair over a cliff!"

They laugh. "Oh, Mama! Stop that. You're not dying."

But I am. We all are. We're in the land of the dying, heading for the land of the living. I understand the phrase "living in the shadowlands" now. And I look forward to living in eternal Light.

Death is not always a morbid thought to me now. Thank you, Bert, for not only showing us how to live, but how to die. As my body ages or health issues come, I pray, "Lord, let them remind me that I was created for another world. Disease or even death is just my vehicle there, unless You return for me. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus."

Christian Teen Shares Final Thoughts Before His Death

Ben Breedlove has cheated death 3 times as he has struggled with a dangerous and life threatening...

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=K6LDDWNX&utm_source=GodTube%20Must-See%20Video&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=12/29/2011

One day you'll get the call. Are you ready? He made the way. It's easy. But it's your choice. Here's a GPS through the Romans Road. Clicking here may lead to the most important decision you ever make. This life is your gift to God. Eternal life is God's gift to you. Choose wisely.

http://www.gotquestions.org/Romans-road-salvation.html

ALL I WANTED FOR CHRISTMAS

2011-12-29T00:01:00.011-05:00

I GOT!

We rented a house large enough to hold all 20 Hendersons!

For full screen click here.

One reason I started a blog was to preserve our family history. If you watched the above pictures, you've been more than gracious with our family's Christmas week. Don't you hate getting trapped at someone's house seeing their vaca shots? Feel free to leave anytime.

For the stalwart, a 2nd blog is below. Scroll down (or you may need to click on Older Post, right) for 2 video clips of our week together (playing, music, fun moments.) If you care to hang with us another 5 minutes or so, then have some popcorn and settle in. We welcome you!

See you here next Friday.

Happy New Year,

Kathy

Christmas Videos '11

2011-12-28T22:34:00.007-05:00

We rented a house at Myrtle Beach large enough for 20 Hendersons. It was one of the best weeks of our lives! Here we captured a smattering of the fun, music and laughter.

It all began with a KISS!

Have a blessed New Year!

The Hendersons

GIFTS & GIVERS

2011-12-23T00:01:00.006-05:00

Do we enjoy the gifts more than the giver? They are an expression of love and our appreciation for them should ricochet love back to the craftsman. In human relationships we're careful to thank each other.

How would Doug feel watching his kids receive his wood-working gift but never express love or appreciation directly to him?

Our kids express appreciation BOTH for Doug and his gifts. Here are his '11 creations.

Jewelry boxes for the ladies

And for the guys' desks, their names in cedar, oak and walnut

Mama made chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake and the best chicken gravy ever. It expressed her love. But when arthritis and a stroke took away her ability to cook, I loved her still.

At Christmas our thoughts turn to gifts and especially the greatest Gift of God to us, His Son. It's easy to sometimes love the creation more than the Creator.

Likewise, our spiritual gifts and talents should reflect our love for the One Who gave them to us. Do I love the music more than Him on Sunday morning? Teaching, preaching, church work can become performance traps without eternal reward. "You have your reward."

Love the Giver more than the gift. Whether giving or receiving, it's about the relationship not stuff.

Celebrate Him!

(See more of Doug's beautiful woodwork below in last week's blog, a rerun from '09.)

MERRY XMAS

2011-12-16T00:01:00.006-05:00

As we had our annual Finger Food Festival (piano recital) this week, I remembered this event from several years ago. This was a blog from 2009 but I felt the message is worth repeating at this season as we celebrate Christ.

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."

I recalled and thought, "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

DADDY'S PEARL HARBOR DAY LETTER

2011-12-07T13:54:00.006-05:00

Dad's letter Dec. 7, 1941

"Grandma, what's this envelope from Daddy?" I asked as I thumbed through a box of old photos.

She reached for the tattered, yellowed airmail letter, opened it and gasped, "Oh gracious! It came two weeks after Pearl Harbor. We didn't know until then if Elbert was alive or not."

"You mean you thought his ship was one bombed?"

Mamie & Alfred Tippett
Grandma & Papa

"Honey, back then, we didn't know much about where their battleships were. News traveled slow during those days. Even the letters home had black-out marks in them. A security thing I reckon."

I reached for the letter and we were both trembling. It was a lost piece of history, reclaimed.

Daddy was in the Navy for over 30 years. During World War II he was stationed on the battleship USS Washington. That was the letterhead where my eyes fixated. This was before my birth but Daddy had a wife and little boy, Bert, back home. He sat down on board his ship just hours after Pearl Harbor was bombed. He pecked out his emotions on the day of infamy, as he typed this letter to his parents. I began to read it aloud:

Elbert Worth Tippett, Jr.

"Sunday, 7 December, 1941

Dear Dad & Mom,

Well I wrote you a couple days ago and I decided to write you again tonight. I just finished a letter to Kat and Bert. I guess they have been up to see you several times by now. Well this leaves me just fine and ready to go.

I know everyone down there and all over the United States, as a matter of fact, are keeping their ears glued to the radio for the news. We are all listening, trying to find out the dope. I was asleep in my bunk when someone came by and said Honolulu was bombed. I did not believe it at first. I guess the nation as a whole was shocked. The reason I sat down to write this letter was to tell you all not to worry about me for we will be OK. We are ready to meet anything they have or will get. I try to tell Kat not to worry about me but I guess she is like the rest. You can not help but worry just a little. I know every one of you will do more worrying than I will. If I don't, why should you? Of course you and any of the rest will not know where we are and of course that is as it should be. But I will write often and you all write to me and when I get the chance I will be home to see you all. I would like very much to be home for xmas but I doubt if I will be able to get off. In fact, I don't even expect to do so.

Bert will soon be walking all over the place I guess. I would like to see the little rascal. I have been very lucky for I have been around this long with them. I am glad I sent them home when I did and they might as well stay down there until further notice. I don't intend for her to stay down there for nothing. I guess she will most likely stay at her home but you all will see them from time to time and I know they will be better off down there. If they need anything I know you will help them and I appreciate it. I don't know when I will be able to send her any more money. I may be able to and I may not. Anyway she will start getting a check each month starting the first of February but just in case, I know she will be taken care of. If she has to have any, it would not be much. I will gladly repay any of you, for I will have it. It will, or might be, the problem of getting it to her. But in case, I will see you get it back, in case you lend her any. I don't think you will have to but I like to think they are taken care of when I am not there.

Well I will close for this time and don't worry who will get licked for I know we can. As one of the senators said, "Now that it has started, get in there and lick the hell out of them." And that is just what we will do. Ha. Ha.

Love to all the family,
Elbert"

A letter buried for over 30 years under faded photos, gives us a glimpse into the heart of a vet. Now it resurfaces 70 years after Dad wrote it.

I share it with you, to honor Daddy and the many others who bravely dedicated and sacrificed their own lives for your freedom as an American.

Kathy

TO TELL THE TRUTH

2011-12-02T00:01:00.010-05:00

"Truth, dare, consequences, promise or repeat! Choose one!" My big brother, Bert, chanted with mystery in his voice. We sat Indian style in a circle of neighborhood kids, playing the familiar game while crickets chirped into Saturday evening.

Even as children we knew if we chose truth, our words had to be factual. "Cross your heart and hope to die?" Now that's commitment to the truth!

As adults we stress honesty to our children. Integrity matters even in little things.

As Christians we handle God's Truth so we must be trusted to be accurate in our words.

The gospel contains some hard truths, hard enough for the world to believe--like Jesus the God-man, His virgin birth, walking on water, resurrection, miracles, heaven and hell. These can't be scientifically tested or proven. We don't see, hear, smell, taste or touch them. How are we to be believed then? How is God's Word to be trusted?

By faith. Faith in Him. Faith in us as truth handlers. To be reliable witnesses to Truth, we must carefully handle truth in ALL things.

Kathy mounts her soapbox here.

Christians often jump aboard whenever they hear or read a dramatic story or warning that supports right wing views, whether religious or political. Now I love a good story as much as anyone. My blogs prove it. But if we are known for passing along fodder without researching its veracity, we're just gospel gossips! I've even mentioned it to friends when I found their story to be more in the "Once upon a time" category.

I see it all the time on facebook, emails, newsletters and church bulletins. Sometimes we even hear it in sermons. Do we hit send without checking out for truth? Are we too lazy to research or just careless with truth? Certainly we're not so naive as to think because it was on the internet, it must be true. We might pass along an article under the guise of, "I care about my family and friends so I'll warn them." That well-meaning approach may eventually cost us credibility with those we love most.

As a Christian I feel we should be held to a higher level of honesty, accuracy and truth telling. Reader's Digest does! They research facts many times before publishing. Sometimes they still get it wrong. But they try.

Even red-faced editors print newspaper retractions when they get it wrong,. It may be in small print and buried but they know the importance of reliability so they try.

Reporters know loss of credibility may even cost them their jobs! A whole newspaper recently folded (yes, I meant that pun) over integrity.

Snopes, truth or fiction, urban legends are not infallible but at least a step in the right direction of research.

Let's be good Truth bearers since the Truth abides in us.

If we're to be believed, unlike the little boy who cried wolf, we must do better. The world already sees us as naive, easily duped, uneducated and out of touch with reality. Satan fathers lies. Don't be his conduit!

Our integrity may be the real test of character. Handle God's Word carefully. Handle your own words carefully. The two are linked!

After I wrote this blog, I ran across this.

Rev. Chuck Swindoll writes:

We live in a day of hearsay, when few people pass along information that is precise and reliable. Do you? Are you careful about what you say? Do you have the facts? Do you offer proof that the information you are conveying is correct? While there are occasions when it's appropriate to pass along needed and serious information to the right sources, there's a growing preoccupation with rumor and slander. Half truths and innuendos become juicy morsels in the mouths of unreliable gossips. There is no way to measure the number of people who have been hurt by rumor, exaggeration, and hearsay. Perhaps you have suffered this yourself.

Be careful what you say. Be careful how you say it. Be careful that you send the right message, that you send it to the right person, and that you do so with the right motive.

OH, FORGET IT!

2011-11-24T15:45:00.001-05:00

And I often do! I forget where I left my keys or parked my car. Senior moments are common these days. Recently they reached an all time high. . .or low, depending on your vantage point.

Doug and I had a few days together last week in a condo at Myrtle Beach. During these fall and winter months we pretty much have the place to ourselves between weekends.

We stayed on the 11th floor and basically saw no one except the resort workers.

Our view from the balcony

"Doug, let's go to the jacuzzi after supper."

"Great idea. Let me stop by the front desk to get something first. I'll meet you there."

Knowing there were several outdoor pools and hot tubs, I added, "OK. I'll wait for you at the indoor tub by the pool."

So I turned on the jets and slipped into the warm water. It felt wonderful for about 10 minutes then it got lobster hot. So I got out and swam a bit in the heated pool. I toggled back and forth between the two for 40 minutes. I kept wondering where Doug was. Finally I dried off, went to the lobby desk and asked for a room key, explaining, "I don't know where my husband went so I need another key please."

The young man pointed, "Here he comes."

Doug was wet and looked as exasperated as I did. He'd waited for me most of that time in the OUTDOOR jacuzzi, then decided to return to our 11th floor condo in search of me. Only he took the wrong elevator and found himself in the South Tower on the wrong 11th floor. We stayed in the North Tower. (I'll admit those elevators and floors do look alike, except for the room numbers!) Then he went to the lobby and asked the desk clerk if I'd been back there. Doug didn't even realize there were indoor water features!

The mood was shot. Had the whole blooming place to ourselves and lost each other! That was a first.

We laughed about it. The next day. I wrote my family about it. The next week.

My niece, Christine, is my younger brother's daughter. She wrote me about Ricky and Gwen sharing similar escapades this week:

Aunt K,

Just have a moment between grading tests and book reports, but I HAD to email this to you before I forgot. Your "senior moment" with Uncle Doug at the beach reminded me...

Last week, poor mom had a rough day. The five of us were in the car on the way to Chili's and she asked us, "Does anyone mind if we stop at Kohl's on the way back home? I bought some things there this afternoon and left one of my bags. I didn't realize it until I got home."

We consented, and she went on: "I also had to go to the grocery store twice today! I forgot to scan my MVP card, and it was $30 more than it should be. I went back and they gave me the cash for the difference."

Predictably, these confessions led right into a long tirade by dad teasing about how old and forgetful Mom was. She smiled like a good sport and took the heat as she usually does. Then she mentioned in passing, "I also need to go to Best Buy."

"Why?" I wondered out loud.

"I need to take back that movie Dad bought twice."

So the bad news is that they both may be in a fog of dementia, but at least they're lost in there together! :)

Christine

~ ~ ~

Another recent episode assures me that this forgetfulness is neither unique nor familial. My Sunday school teacher, Ernestine, was about to start class with, "Ladies! I need your attention. I forgot to tell you something. Ladies! Ladies! I need to tell you something I forgot to mention." She waited for the chatter to subside.

When all eyes were on her, she continued, "Oh shoot! I forgot what I forgot!"

We know, Ernestine, we know.

Before I forget. . .HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Kathy, stuffed

LANGUAGE REVOLUTION

2011-11-18T00:01:00.000-05:00

A friend and fellow blogger, Judy Puckett, found this and shared it. The humor makes a valid point. My love for words makes it irresistible. So I pass it along for your enjoyment!

The European Commission has just announced an
agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a five-year phase-in
plan that would become known as “Euro-English.”

In the first year, “s” will replace the soft “c.” Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard “c” will be dropped in favour of “k.” This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome “ph” will be replased with “f.” This will make words like fotograf 20 persent shorter.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reash the stage where more komplikated shanges are possible.

Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters whish have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.

Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent “e” in the languag is disgrasful, and it should sertainly go away.

By the fourth yer people wil be reseptiv to steps sush as replasing “th” with “z” and “w” with “v.”

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary “o” kan be dropd from vords kontaining “ou” and after ze fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl.

Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis, and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

If zis has mad you smil, ples pas on zis vebsit tu oza Amerikans an evn tu pepl in oza plezes.

~ ~ ~

Kathy here again. This actually made me want to preserve our American heritage. I can welcome immigrants while encouraging them to learn our language--English!

Now I smell something burning. . .oh my! This blog just destroyed my Spell Check. Spell Czech.

GOOD OL' SOUTHERN BOYS

2011-11-11T13:47:00.002-05:00

It's 11:11, 11.11.11. This won't happen again for. . .um, 12 hours!

"Southerners can fix anything with duck tape or WD-40. If it moves and it's not supposed to, use duct tape. If it doesn't move and should, use WD-40."
-Anita Renfroe, comedeinne

There are some things, however, you'll never hear a good, ol' southern boy say. Such as:

When I retire I'm movin' north.
I'll take Shakespeare for 1,000, Alex.
Duct tape won't fix that.
We don't keep firearms in this house.
You can't feed that to a dog.
No kids in the back of the pick-up. It's just not safe.
Wrestling is fake.
We're vegetarians.
Do you think my gut is too big?
I'll have grapefruit and grapes instead of biscuits and gravy.
Honey, we don't need another dog.
Who cares who won the Civil War?

Too many deer heads detract from the decor.
I just couldn't find a thing at Walmart today.
Trim the fat off that steak.
Cappuccino tastes better than espresso.
The tires on that truck are too big.
Give me the small bag of pork rinds.
I got it all on the C: DRIVE.
Unsweetened tea tastes better.
My fiance', Bobbie Jo, is registered at Tiffany's.
She's too young to be wearing a bikini.
Hey, here's an episode of Hee-Haw we haven't seen yet!
Those shorts oughta' be a little longer, Betty Lou.
I don't have a favorite college team.
Sure, Honey, we can watch your chick flick. I'll catch the game on reruns.
We'll just pull over at that convenience store and ask for directions.
You guys.
I just love opera!
Checkmate.

Now don't take offense. It takes a southerner to earn the right to joke about southerners. My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek. Yes, it's my tongue. . .not chewin' tobacco!

Granddaughter of 2 tobacco farmers,

Kathy

RESET MY SAILS

2011-11-04T00:01:00.003-04:00

Jane Seymore's art design of open hearts

Today I'm opening my heart to you on a personal issue. It's not that I need to have a true confessional moment so much as this fits my original purpose for blogging.

When I started writing I threw open the curtains to my life for several reasons:

to preserve our family history and anecdotes
to encourage others, often through humor or word plays
to give glimpses of my spiritual journey, both successes and failures

Today that 3rd purpose reveals both a struggle and a gain in my own life. It's embarrassing to share your weaknesses. I'm part of a ladies' Bible study in which we do this weekly and find true bridges into each others' lives. Raw honesty. Being real. In a safe place.

This blog's had over 24,000 readers most of whom I'll never meet. Safe place? Maybe not. But the value of my lesson is too important not to share. Maybe it will help someone else.

But HOW?

I have a critical nature. It doesn't always show but is often in my thinking. I complain in my head a lot--against myself, others, a situation. The targets are many. Controlling those thoughts is vital to a happy life. It's also very difficult. But I stumbled onto a simple solution. It's working for me right now.

Soon as that first negative thought pops into my brain and I recognize it as a criticism, I shoot up an emergency silent prayer, "Lord, reset my sails."

He does!

Before this, my pattern would be one critical thought linking to another and another so that within minutes I'd have an iron chain necklace of negative thoughts weighing me down. Mind you I may not have voiced a one out loud. Yet. But my inner spirit stank! And sank! Anyone relate?

That little phrase, resetting my sails, came to me through a quote years ago.

"A ship hauled into drydock for repairs can sail further and faster than ever. Resetting the sails takes time but is necessary for navigation."

A little research into the phrase produced:

Abstract: An improved sail restraint for Migler's vertical axis wind turbine in which excessive wind speed automatically causes the sails to be feathered, protecting them from wind damage, and, when the wind speed is reduced to an allowable level, the improved sail restraint automatically allows the sails to be reset to their nonfeathered, working position.

OK. What that means is. . .I have no idea. TOO abstract for me! So a bit more research shed the layman light I needed:

metaphor. The author is saying that we have to find out our real core values and then we can find ways to lead a fulfilled life, included finding out which career to follow or which activities to choose for our free time.
Then he goes:

"...first we choose to become value-driven and then zero-in on those values, which in turn can guide us to reset the sails of our lifeboat".

Lifeboat! I get that metaphor. My complaining, critical thoughts could sink my lifeboat quickly when negative thinking spiraled down like an anchor. For years I've prayed about this problem during my devotions.

But recently I found a working application of that quote. I ask the Lord to show me the very second my thinking is wrong. He does. And I respond in that moment, "Lord, reset my sails."

You blew it again, Kathy! Lord, reset my sails.

She hurt my feelings. Lord, reset my sails.

Idiot driver! Lord, reset my sails.

Those kids are wild. . .

why don't parents discipline? Lord, rest my sails.

For me, this was bringing every thought into captivity. His captivity, not mine. Like a squished spider, the thought stopped. He replaced it immediately with good, true, pure thoughts. My weakness became a canvas for His strength.

Simple? Yes. It's my Bread crumb on life's journey and I share it with you. In the parables of the lost coin, the lost sheep and the prodigal son, the one who found the treasure shared the news. Why? Because good news about a good God is for everyone.

Maybe resetting your sails is a tool you need too!

On a lighter note I posted an extra Halloween blog below this week. Enjoy!

One Dark Night

2011-10-31T20:05:00.003-04:00

A man is walking home

alone late one foggy night. . .

when behind him he hears

Bump. . .

BUMP. . .

BUMP. . .

Walking faster, he looks

back and through the fog

he makes out the image of
an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the
street toward him.

BUMP. . .

BUMP. . .

BUMP. . .

Terrified, the man begins to

run toward his home, the

casket bouncing quickly

behind him

FASTER. . .

FASTER. . .

BUMP. . .

BUMP. . .

BUMP. . .

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, rushes in, slams and locks the door behind him.

However, the casket crashes through his door, with the lid

of the casket clapping

clappity-BUMP. . .

clappity-BUMP. . .

clappity-BUMP. . .

on his heels, the terrified man runs.

Rushing upstairs to the

bathroom, the man locks

himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door.

Bumping and clapping toward

him.

The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup!

Desperate, he throws the cough syrup at the casket...

and,

The coffin stops.

WHAT'S UP, DOC?

2011-10-28T00:01:00.003-04:00

Up. A funny word. Say it five times fast and it's even funnier. It morphs into pup.

When I teach a piano student their first lesson I usually say, "Look up."

As we gaze at my studio ceiling I go on, "All your life that's been up. But in piano up is to the right of the keyboard and down is to your left." We explore high and low sounds, adding to their confusion.

Are you UP to reading a blog devoted totally to this two-letter word? "What's up?" we often ask in greeting. That morphed a few years back into, "Wassup?"

We're up to our neck in ups. It has more meanings than any other two-letter English word.

Now I get it that the sky is up or you move up to the top of the list. But in the morning, why do we wake up? Why not wake over because I usually roll out of bed? Eventually.

At a meeting why does a topic come up? Why do we speak up then listen up? Politicians come up for election and secretaries write up reports.

In one day I might make up my bed then put on my make-up, call up a friend, brighten up a room by polishing up the furniture, fix up my hair, gas up my car, figure up my taxes, heat up leftovers, clean up the kitchen then lock up the house.

This tiny word is packed full of meaning. People stir up trouble, line up for tickets, work up an appetite then think up excuses for over-eating.

To be dressed is one thing but to dress up is special. You do that when you go uptown.

Up can also be confusing. A drain must be opened up because it's stopped up. Both are actually down so that really makes little sense.

We open up a store in the morning but also close it up at night. We seem to be pretty mixed up about up.

When it threatens to rain, we say it's clouding up. When it rains, the earth soaks it up. When the sun comes out, we say it's clearing up. When it does not rain, things dry up. Whether you like it or not, the weather is always up to something.

Daddy used to tell me to straighten up when I was up to no good. My 5'2" Mama told me to stand up tall and be proud of my 5'6" height when I slumped at age 12!

To be knowledgeable about the proper use of the word up, look up up and you'll find that in a desk-sized dictionary, it takes up 1/4 of the page defining it. This adds up to about 30 meanings.

If you're up to it, build up your own list of the many ways up is used. I doubt you'll use up all the ideas out there. It may take up some time but if you don't give up, you might wind up with 100 or more.

One could go on and on but I'll wrap it up for now.

Hm-mmmm. . .on and on. I may have another blog idea.

Upended on this one!
Kathy
How many ups are in this blog? Leave your best guess in COMMENTS.

MEN'S FEARS vs. WOMEN'S FEARS

2011-10-21T00:01:00.003-04:00

"Adele, I'm worried about my flight to New York City."

"Why?"

"We accidentally booked it for landing at 11:45 PM thinking it was a morning flight."

My concern about catching a cab or car from LaGuardia to my friend's apartment at midnight is common to all women. Ask any lady if she ever fears purse-snatching or rape and you'll hear a unanimous, "Yes." Ask any man that question and he'll stare at you blankly. (Unless there are prison bars between you and him.)

Our gender fears are different. One reknown preacher years ago was asked by his seminary students, "What's the most important thing we need to remember just before we preach a sermon?"

They expected sage theological advice and were startled at his quick reply, "Check your fly. Your sermon or theology won't matter if it's down." Now that's a fear I know nothing about.

But my husband does. As a youth pastor years ago he was speaking to a classroom full of teenagers about dating. I was seated in row three with them. "Now, kids, modesty is important." The boy and girl seated behind me snickered.

Doug leaned into the small podium, driving his point further, "Guard your purity and . . ." Their snickers grew louder and a few other kids joined in the muffled laughter. I glared at them over my shoulder. They tried to stifle but couldn't.

Doug continued speaking and the inappropriate guffaws grew as he spoke and I shushed. The boy behind me whispered, "Mrs. Henderson, look at his fly." I did. Every time he leaned forward it gaped open, nullifying his words. He grew annoyed and more puzzled. Especially when I started laughing too.

I raised my hand, trying to silently signal Doug with my eyes, "Honey, you.have.a.phone.call. An emergency." Now this was before cell phones. Logically there was no way my message made any sense. Except to Doug. He immediately knew his fly was down and I'd just given him an out.

He cleared his throat, "I'll be right back." When he abruptly left the room about half of his audience knew why. When he returned, red-faced, the others knew. Word spread. They all applauded.

At home that night he told me part two of the story, "I knew when you spoke so soon as I stepped into the hallway I zipped up. THEN I looked up to see two teen girls coming in late. Too late not to see me adjust my problem." Busted. In the room and outside of it. Men's fears are very real too.

Rumor has it another preacher sat on stage before his sermon when his wife noticed the same problem and gave him a signal. His eyes darted down but he froze in place thinking, Mrs. Anderson is singing a solo. As she passes between me and the audience I'll zip up.

Mrs. Anderson was a large lady and she dressed in a flowing lavendar chiffon dress for her special music that Sunday. As she provided ample shield, the pastor zipped quickly. So quickly that he didn't notice her dress caught in his zipper, until they all heard the RRR-IIIIIPPPPP that yanked her back a step, dress torn but not in two.

The preacher and Mrs. A. high stepped into an impromptu dance to free her. The solo and the sermon went on. But in actuality they were both over before they began.

Gender fears. Very real. Very different.

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in God." And hold my purse tightly.

BUBBA STRIKES AGAIN!

2011-10-14T00:01:00.019-04:00

This photo of me with my younger brother, Ricky Tippett, was taken one Christmas. My gift to him that year was his very own Bubba teeth. He was thrilled. He commented on last week's blog that my 2-part story was one of his favorites. Then he reminded me of his own follow-up adventure. So I asked if he'd be my guest blogger today and share that episode with you. He agreed. So enjoy part 3 of my family's redneck impersonations.

RICKY WRITES:

I read Kathy’s piece last week and smiled and laughed all the way through it. It brought back a lot of good memories. My sister never lacks for a … let’s say, “creative” idea … when it comes to getting people to smile and laugh.

A few months after my sister’s prank at her church, I awoke one morning and decided to do something similar. Dressing early in worn out jeans, a ratty-looking sweatshirt, a wool work coat, and old work shoes, I headed to Raleigh Christian Academy that morning determined to step out of the administrator’s shoes and into Bubba Two’s shoes.

I arrived before any of the teachers or students got to school and I went to the restroom to finish out my prank. I put on a black baseball cap that had a long, black ponytail coming out of the back. I had a pair of thick rim glasses that used to belong to my Dad. That helped change my appearance quite a lot, but not as much as when I put in my Bubba-teeth.

I planned to be an electrician who was called in to help find some problems with the school's alarm system. I brought an aluminum stepladder so I could remove some tiles in the hallway ceiling and climb up in the ceiling so that people could only see me from the waist down. I strapped on a tool belt and had it fully decked out with professional equipment like a hammer, wire cutters, screw drivers, pliers, etc.

When I heard the students coming in, I got in place and began banging on the pipes and wall above the ceiling so everyone would think some guy from an electrical company was there trying to fix some problem. I saw a few students and teachers pause and look up the ladder, but most of them just walked on by not really paying attention.

When the hallways got more and more people, I began to whistle softly, songs like The Gambler and Stand By Your Man. At last I decided it was time to come down and get some things out of a toolbox I had placed at the foot of my ladder. This did cause students to stop and stare some, but they had no idea it was me. When I stared back at them, they quickly looked away so as not to be rude.

I would take a few tools out of the box and head back up the ladder and bang on a few more pipes.

Evidently some of the kids were talking about the strange guy working up in the ceiling. “Yeah, you ought to see him. Man, he’s crazy looking.” So more did come and try to get a peek. Just before the first bell rang, I came down and began to speak to those who where nearby. Just polite southern talk.

“Hey. How ya’ll this morning?”

Pausing, but trying to be nice they’d say, “Fine.” Then they’d move away. I didn’t know if it was the pony tail or the teeth that was getting them to come take another look. I saw some girls put their hands over their mouth to hide their laughter.

They would walk away whispering, “Who is that guy?”

I was pleased. When the bell rang I decided it was time to see what was going on in the school office. I got a teacher to walk me in there, explaining that this was “Johnny” from Electicon Company and he was trying to fix an alarm problem in the hallway and trace down the source of a power failure. Parents and office workers stared blankly. They tried not to stare, but I wasn’t making it easy.

I was speaking loudly and in a deep southern drawl. I looked at Mrs. Newman, one of our office ladies, and I said, “Ma'am, I need to use yer phone, if I may, to call back to the shop.”

I could tell she didn’t recognize me and she said, “There’s a phone in the hallway.”

“I don’t have a quarter, ma'am.”

“Sorry,” she said and walked away back to the copier room.

I decided to push the envelop a bit so I went back behind the counter and I sat in her chair behind her desk and picked up her phone. I pretended to be talking to someone on the phone when she walked back in and saw me. Her hands immediately went up to her hips and she snapped her fingers at me and motioned for me to get up. I kept talking. “Up, sir! Now.”

“Oh, so sorry, ma'am. Just needed to use yer phone.”

“Out!” she barked.

So I left only to find more teachers and students. Eventually people were taking a hard second look. “I think that’s Mr. Tippett,” I heard one senior whisper. I move away quickly.

I was about to call it a day after an hour or so, but Dwight said, “Let’s go down to the conference room and see if Pastor Rabon recognizes you.”

In a few minutes Pastor walked down and went to his seat in the conference room. He had his back to me and Dwight took me in and said, “Pastor, I have someone I want you to meet. This is Johnny from the electric company, just here to do some work for us. I invited him to church Sunday and I wanted you to meet him.”

Immediately Preacher got up and quickly walked back to where I was standing. “Hey, der, Preacher. Good to meetcha.”

“Hey, there, Johnny. Good to meet you, too.”

“I wuz just here to check on some problems with yer school’s alarm system.”

“Oh?” But now he was really looking me over. He paused and stared real hard at me.

“Ricky? Ricky? …. Is that YOU, Ricky?”

Game over. We all had a good laugh and I began to understand how my crazy sister can rub off on an innocent, impressionable little brother. Sister Bubba lives in Florence and Brudder Bubba lives in Raleigh.

Life is sweet.

Ricky Tippett

Kathy here. With this other picture of Ricky and me on a cruise, I'll invite you to decide who's truly innocent and impressionable!

FALL FESTIVAL REDNECK STYLE

2011-10-07T00:01:00.003-04:00

Our church, Greenwood Baptist, held a Fall Festival for the community for many years. We'd have 500-600 costumed kids come for treats, booths, rides and photo ops. My job was to greet them at the door, give them a Trick or Treat bag and direct them into the sanctuary to meet Pastor Mike and then have a picture made.

Lawrence Hill, one of our charter members (now with the Lord), shared this greeting post with me over the years. After a couple of hours at the vestibule door, I slipped away explaining, "Mr. Lawrence, I'm gonna put on a costume this year. But when I come back out, don't tell anyone it's me." His eyes reflected my twinkle and I knew I had a cohort.

In the adjacent Bride's Room I stuffed pillows into my large flannel shirt and bib overalls. I put on a ball cap with dreadlocks attached, thick bottle-glasses, Billy Bob teeth and even gloves to hide my manicured hands. I waved at Lawrence as I made my re-entrance. He seemed puzzled at first. "It's ME! Shhhhh!"

I sashayed down the aisle behind a costumed family, waiting my turn to meet the unsuspecting pastor.

He reached for my hand, "Hello. I'm Mike. Welcome to Greenwood."

"Heeeeyyyy, Preacher!" I croaked in my best Redneck, gravel voice. "I met you a'fore! Doncha' 'member me?"

He paused, "Uh, no, I don't quite. . ." I could see his struggle as he tried to decide if this weird lady was in a costume or merely a weird lady. I enjoyed watching him squirm with diplomacy.

"Well, I'm here near 'bout every Sunday. Yessiree!"

"You are?" he smiled patronizingly.

"Yep. I sit right in front. You bounda' see me!"

He squinted trying to peer through my thick glasses. Obviously his job this night was to welcome folks to his church. Until now, it had been a relatively easy job.

I continued the charade, "Shore nuff! In fact I hear you need an organ player."

Now he knew I'd visited before. I play the piano but at that time we also needed someone on organ. So he smiled with, "Why, yes, we do," still trying to place me.

"I play!"

Teetering between diplomacy and hysteria, he kindly asked, "You do?"

"Yep. In fact, you WATCH me play every week!"

"I-I do?" His voice was a bit higher than usual.

"Yesiree Bob! I just sit on the pianer bench every Sunday."

Mike leaned in as close as my pillowed-belly would let him. He lifted my thick glasses and queried, "Kathy? Is that you in there?"

I had my picture taken and one of our members fixed it up into a poster:

Then I continued all through the gym talking to folks who didn't recognize me. We truly have some kind members. Then I got to Doug's booth. Of course he knew it was me but he played along as I flirted with him. Finally I grabbed him, leaned him back and planted a big, Billy-Bob-toothed kiss on him. Everyone froze in terror until I removed my hat, glasses and teeth.

The big reveal!

ONE YEAR LATER--Part 2 (just when you thought it couldn't get worse. . .)

I asked Vickie Morrison, "Would you dress up in my garb like I did last year, Vickie?"

"Oh, Kathy, I can't be crazy like you."

"You don't have to, Vickie. In fact don't say a word and they'll all think it's me again." So she did. As she went through the sanctuary Pastor Mike kidded her, "Come on, Kathy, not again! You look as bad as last time."

She went to the gym and at every booth folks made wise cracks to Kathy. She never spoke but took the back-slapping and ribbing like a pro. About halfway through her circuit of the booths, I came in dressed normally. Me at one end of the gym, Vickie at the other.

"Kathy! I thought I just saw you and I said how ugly you looked! Oh no!"

"You did? Who were you talking to? I just got here."

"That lady down there. . .oh nooooo! She looked just like you did last year. I thought it was you! Oh man!"

I followed her trail hearing one person after another moan at what they'd just said to our ugly visitor. I waited awhile before revealing mini-me as Vickie.

We stopped having Fall Festivals soon after these 2 years. Wonder why.

PERCEPTION VS. OBSESSION

2011-09-30T00:01:00.004-04:00

We just returned home from a week visiting Kimberly's family in Minneapolis. We were treated like royalty and relished every minute with our grandkids!

But home looked good when our plane landed. We came back to a clean house.

Why do I find it necessary to clean the house, wash the clothes and dishes before I leave on a trip? Probably the same reason I make my bed every morning, even when no one is coming over. If I die, I don't want to be embarrassed when a bunch of people come over and see a mess! Or maybe I'm basically lazy and don't want to face housework when I get back home from traveling.

I don't think it's so much obsession as it is perception. Obsessive people clean constantly. I just pick things up so to the eye it appears clean. I've always hated clutter. Years ago I learned that neatness passes for cleanliness. Neither is next to godliness.

I had an OCD neighbor once. She actually stopped by my house one day to tell me, "Kathy, you probably can't tell from inside, but your 2 window shades are not level." Now I must admit that I almost laughed at her then realized she was serious. Raising three level-headed kids trumped raising two level blinds that morning!

My house looks different now in my 60's than it did in my 30's. Then again life is quite different these days. Young mothers dream of order, decluttering and decor. Those rooted dreams come true AFTER the kids leave home and time becomes yours again. So invest in lives now and living rooms later.

When we first entered our empty nest we loved it. So much changed. Laundry for example. With a family of five, washing clothes was a frequent chore. But one day Doug asked his empty-nester wife, "Kathy, you gonna wash clothes soon?"

I opened the hamper and spotted a small pile of black socks, hardly a load. "No. Why?"

"I'm almost out of black socks."

"How many pairs do you have?"

"Six or seven."

So I pondered the new dilemma then countered with, "Honey, if you'll buy about three more pair, I'll wash a dark load about every 10 days." Now in the summer with sweaty clothes I may break down and wash weekly!

Naw. I'm not obsessive. It's all about perception. Don't feel the top of my fridge and judge me. Just do a quick scan of the room and it'll pass for clean! I vote for a home over a house any day. Come over and put your feet up. Shoes on are fine!

Read about my philosophy on dusting.
http://kathyhenderson.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-philosophy-on-dust.html

KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS

2011-09-23T00:01:00.001-04:00

Remember the old Art Linkletter Houseparty show from the 50's? My favorite segment was the title of this blog. It's true!

To document it, I kept 3 little notebooks, one for each of our children, on funny things they'd say. One would try to get in her book, "Mama, you gonna write that down?"

Another desperately feared saying something I might record, "Mama! DON'T write that in my book ple-eeeease!" Now that they're older I don't think they'd care. But I'll risk embarrassing them on other blog days.

Today I'll share proverbs by school kids. Sayings quite familiar to us were presented (in part) to children. Creative little minds finished the phrases, spinning new twists on old adages.

Don't change horses until they stop running.

Strike while the bug is close.

It's always darkest before Daylight Savings.

Never underestimate the power of termites.

You can lead a horse to water but how?

Don't bite the hand that looks dirty.

No news is impossible.

A miss is as good as a Mr.

You can't teach an old dog new math.

If you lie down with dogs you'll stink in the morning.

Love all, trust me.

The pen is mightier than the pigs.

An idle hand is the best way to relax.

Where there's smoke there's pollution.

Happy the bride who gets all the presents.

A penny saved is not much.

Two's company. Three's the Musketeers.

Don't put off tomorrow what you put on to go to bed.

You get out of something only what you see on the box.

Better late than pregnant.

Children should be seen and not spanked or grounded.

If at first you don't succeed, get new batteries.

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you have to blow your nose.

There are none so blind as Stevie Wonder.

A bird in the hand is gonna poop on you.

When the blind lead the blind, get out of the way!

PROUD PEOPLE VS. BROKEN PEOPLE

2011-09-15T13:15:00.000-04:00

This blog is not my usual style. In fact it's not even written by me but a friend, Ivy Spera, shared it with me. It convicted me. It's from the radio broadcast of Nancy Leigh DeMoss, author and speaker. My prayer is that it touches you today too.

Proud people focus on the failures of others, but broken people are overwhelmed with a sense of their own spiritual need. Proud people are self-righteous. They have a critical, fault-finding spirit. They look at everyone else's faults with a microscope but their own with a telescope, and they look down on others. But broken people are compassionate. They can forgive much because they know how much they have been forgiven. They think the best of others, and they esteem all others better than themselves.

Proud people have an independent, self-sufficient spirit, but broken people have a dependent spirit and recognize their need for others. Proud people have to prove that they're right, but broken people are willing to yield the right to be right. Proud people claim rights and have a demanding spirit, but broken people yield their rights and have a meek spirit. Proud people are self-protective of their time, their rights, and their reputation, but broken people are self-denying.

Proud people desire to be served, but broken people are motivated to serve others. Proud people desire to be a success, but broken people are motivated to be faithful and to make others a success.

Proud people desire for self-advancement, but broken people desire to promote others. Proud people have a drive to be recognized, to be appreciated. They're wounded when others are promoted and they are overlooked. Broken people have a sense of their own unworthiness. They're thrilled that God would use them at all in any ministry. They're eager for others to get the credit, and they rejoice when others are lifted up.

Proud people have a subconscious feeling, "This ministry is privileged to have me and my gifts." They think of what they can do for God, but broken people have that heart attitude that says, "I don't deserve to have any part in this ministry." They know that they have nothing to offer God except the life of Jesus flowing through their broken lives.Proud people feel confident in how much they know, but broken people are humbled by how very much they have to learn. Proud people areself-conscious, but broken people are not concerned with self at all.

Proud people keep others at arm’s length, but broken people are willing to risk getting close to others and to take the risks of loving intimately. Proud people are quick to blame others, but broken people accept personal responsibility and can see where they were wrong in the situation.

Proud people are unapproachable, but broken people are easy to be entreated. Proud people are defensive when criticized, but broken people receive criticism with a humble, open spirit. Proud people are concerned with being respectable. They're concerned with what others think, and they're working to protect their own image and reputation. But broken people are concerned with being real. What they care about and what matters to them is not what others think but what God knows, and they're willing to die to their own reputation.

Proud people find it difficult to share their spiritual needs with others, but broken people are willing to be open and transparent with othersas God directs. Proud people, when they have sinned, want to be sure that no one finds out. Their instinct is to cover up, but broken people, once they've been broken, they don't care who knows or who finds out. They are willing to be exposed because they have nothing to lose.

Proud people have a hard time saying, "I was wrong. Will you please forgive me?" But broken people are quick to admit their failure and to seek forgiveness when necessary. When confessing their sin, proud people tend to deal in generalities, but broken people are able to deal under the conviction of God's Spirit to acknowledge specifics.

Proud people are concerned about the consequences of their sin, but broken people are grieved over the cause, the root of their sin. Proud people are remorseful over their sin, sorry that they got found out or caught. But broken people are truly, genuinely repentant over their sin, which is evidenced in the fact that they forsake that sin.

When there's a misunderstanding or conflict in relationships, proud people wait for the other to come and ask forgiveness, but broken people take the initiative to be reconciled. They race to the cross. They see if they can get there first, no matter how wrong the other may have been.

Proud people compare themselves with others and feel worthy of honor, but broken people compare themselves to the holiness of God and feel a desperate need for His mercy. Proud people are blind to their real heart condition, but broken people walk in the light. Proud peopledon't think they have anything to repent of, but broken people realize that they have need of a continual heart attitude of repentance.

Proud, unbroken people don't think they need revival, but they're sure that everyone else does. Whereas humble, broken people continuallysense their need for a fresh encounter with God, for a fresh filling of His Holy Spirit.

There's a cycle in the ways of God that brokenness leads to genuine repentance. Genuine repentance leads to forgiveness. Forgiveness will produce in my life freedom from the guilt, freedom from the bondage of myself and my sin.

When there is that new freedom birthed through brokenness and repentance and forgiveness, that freedom will produce a new capacity for love and worship and a capacity to love others, to love the unlovable, to love God, to worship God.

And, of course, that worship and that love of God lead us always back to new levels of brokenness, leading to greater and deeper repentance, to new forgiveness, to newfound freedom and increased capacity for love and for worship, to love the people we work with, to love the people we live with. Why is our capacity so limited? Perhaps it's because we are not living in brokenness, for brokenness yields that wonderful fruit of increased capacity for love and worship.

And then brokenness brings increased fruitfulness. For you see, God uses things and people that are broken. There are so many wonderful illustrations of this in the Scripture.

It's when Jacob's natural strength was broken at Peniel that God was able to clothe him with true spiritual power.
It's when the rock at Horeb was struck and broken by Moses' rod that the water flowed out to quench the thirst of the people.
It’s when 300 people broke their pitchers that the light of the lanterns within shone forth.
It’s when the little boy's five loaves were given to Jesus to feed the 5,000. In the Master's hands they were broken and were sufficiently multiplied to feed the multitudes with abundance left over.
It's when Mary's alabaster box was broken that the fragrance was released and filled the whole house.
It's when Jesus' body was broken on Calvary that eternal life was released for the salvation of the world.

UNhappy Birthday

2011-09-08T00:50:00.002-04:00

"And, Katy, you better not take any kids in our room and let my hampster outta the cage!" warned big sister Kimberly. This was her pre-party instruction while I iced her birthday cake. Katy loved Sweetie too but she was Kimberly's pet.

Party hats, candles, gifts, streamers and balloons adorned our driveway as the party began in our carport. Children arrived as adults visited and served. The joyous sounds were suddenly interrupted with screaming, "KATY! I TOLD you to stay out!" Kimberly began to cry as Katy's tears were also cascading down her red cheeks.

"What happened?" I asked. They took me to their bedroom where I saw the dead hampster in the cage.

It seems the temptation to introduce Sweetie to a friend lured Katy and Eric into the bedroom, just to peek at the cute furball. Innocently Eric lifted the cage door when Katy loudly repeated the warning from her sister, "Don't let him out!" Obediently Eric quickly slammed the cage door down right onto Sweetie's neck. They lifted the door and shoved the lifeless lump of fur back into the cage. Too little. Too late. Confession followed discovery.

Katy in blue standing behind Eric
(not sure what he's hiding behind his back
and mischievous smile)

Forgiveness and reconciliation between sisters took some time and overshadowed the birthday bash that sad day. Eric remained friends with the girls as did his family with ours. He and Katy even took swimming lessons together.

Several years later Kimberly was married and Katy in high school when she and Eric attended her Junior Senior banquet, still just friends. Both went their separate ways to different colleges. Katy taught school at her alma mater awhile then married Dave, moved to Canada and had 4 little boys.

One day though Eric popped up on my facebook radar and I saw he had become a doctor. He was in scrubs performing surgery. Many greetings of congratulations popped under the comment section. I joined the fray with a different message:

Eric Eason, pediatric cardiologist

"Eric, do your patients know that before you started saving lives, you were a hampster murderer?"

He quickly denied it, even blaming his sister, Alicia, for creating such a hideous rumor. She shot back a comment accusing him of both Sweetie's death and his false denial. This was all reminiscent of the long-ago but not forgotten birthday party. Maturity sidesteps sibling rivalry sometimes. Obviously his funny bone remained intact.

Innocence
Laying down the law
Violation
Death
Forgiveness
Reconciliation
Redemption from bringing death to
Giving life for and to others

Any of this sound familiar?

Aside from making Eric both the first and second Adam, there may be a few viable parallels here.

On shaky theological ground, but still standing,

Kathy
The saga continues in Comments:

BAK TWO SKOOL SPACIAL

2011-09-01T00:56:00.002-04:00

This is my back-to-school-unsolicited-advice blog.

Educators, I suggest you become a pusher. Get students hooked on something good, like phonics. The English language is not intended to be easy. That's why you teach it nearly every year til graduation.

Students, my advice to you is go ahead and learn the forty'leventeen rules in grammar. They're just the gateway to memorizing the myriad of exceptions to follow. The whole concept is cruel. Why else would the word phonics begin with ph? Or the word lisp guarantee mispronunciation if you have a lisp! Just cruel!

Our 3 college grads. Kent just finished his master's! Still weird, comedic kids.

Mothers, don't let your kids grow up to be comedians. Because they probably won't be nearly as funny as my favorite, Brian Reagan. Enjoy his video tirade and academic childhood scars. It will be the funniest 3 minutes of your day, guaranteed. It'll also guarantee you're involvement in there education! (Yes, I meant to do that.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRXHgzXQQjs&feature=related

SINGING OVER ME

2011-08-26T00:59:00.002-04:00

"For the LORD your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”
Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

As I read this verse again today it sent my mind cascading to memories of songs that weave our family together. Music is a common thread among many Tippetts. To think that God also sings over me with joyful songs sparks a smile on my face and joy in my heart. People we love. Songs we sing.

Grandma Strickland's rocker now
has a place in my home.

Mama sang to me: "Too-ral-loo-rall-loo-ral, it's an Irish lullaby."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5C3UHiD29BI&feature=related
I took my turn in the rocking chair and sang it to my three who did the same with their babies. I wonder if some great-great grandmother began that chain in Ireland before some Tippett or Strickland sailed to America. I sang it over the phone recently to our little Canadian grandson, Caleb, feverish in his mother's arms.

Caleb, on a happier day

Mama to me then the chain again linked to our kids and grands: " 'Skeeters am a-hummin' on the honeysuckle vine, sleep, Kentucky babe. . ."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2siVMuhXz9o&feature=related Now that song definitely began in the good old USA. Kentucky Babe ties to our southern roots.

Mama to me and you know the rest. "God will take care of you, through every day o'er all the way. . ." A song of Christian comfort and a lullaby. Once my little 4 year old Kimberly sang it back to me when she saw me crying. We'd just returned home from a week's vacation to find our freezer had stopped working. All our food was spoiled, a big loss to a young family. As I bailed bloody meat, floating pecans in a sea of rotten tomatoes, I wept. A little cherub hand touched my back and sang in a helium voice:

God will take care of you through every day o'er all the way.

He will take care of you, even when your food's all gone!

My wise little composer adapted the last line and sang my sermon right back to me. If you listen to the end of this video, this little child sounds much like what I heard from Kimberly that day long ago.
God Will Take Care of You:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLPp4gXUY3o

As a family of five we harmonized on the old southern gospel tune Turn Your Radio On. The theology there was a bit thinner but the four part harmony was attainable. The kids groaned and hated when I suggested we sing it while traveling in a car. Then Kent came to our church recently for an event and he strummed it on his guitar, called Doug and me to stage and indulged me once more as we sang it again. Must reflect back to pre-TV days in our clan. Turn Your Radio On:
http://search.yahoo.com/search?fr=yhs-avg-chrome&type=yahoo_avg_hs2-tb-web_chrome_us&p=you+tube+turn+your+radio+on

The Spirit-filled saint is a music filled saint. God used a shepherd boy's music to calm a king, even knowing one day he would become the king. So sing to God today whether you find yourself in a back woods pasture or on a throne. God's listening as you praise Him.

But even more thrilling is that God sings over me! I wonder what He's composed for me. One day I'll hear it. Can you imagine the voice of God singing a song just for you? What a day that will be! Glad reunion day!

IN WITH THE IN-CROWD

2011-08-18T12:45:00.001-04:00

Growing up I never was cool or part of the in-crowd. Strangely enough I wasn't all that impressed with them either. Not that I didn't want to belong. I did. Just not with the cool kids. We had a tight youth group at church and from that close unit, many went on to succeed in life for the Lord and we remain friends.

Photographic proof of my UNcoolness:

Tho' I had aspirations and tried. . .

Our children were much cooler. Or at least they thought they were.

Or not. . .

Kent could actually be both. . .

. . .simultaneously!

Belonging is a natural desire and part of being human. When life is good and as it should be, family and friends provide that. Values are at the core of that magnet. When folks lack basic values, most anything will draw them into a cohesive group.
Here are 10 examples from Readers' Digest of actual Facebook groups. No thought is too random, no grievance too petty to keep folks from organizing a group. Sadly, these easy-to-join virtual groups require no real relationship and often replace real face-to-face conversation or time.

1. Students Against Backpacks With Wheels

2. When I Was Your Age Pluto Was a Planet

3. People Who Always Have to Spell Their Names for Other People

4. No, I Don't Care if I Die at 12 A.M., I Refuse to Pass on Your Chain Letter

5. Friends Don't Let Friends Wear Crocs

6. I Seriously Want to Punch Slow-Walking People in the Back of the Head

7. I Don't Care if the Spider is Not Hurting Anyone, I Want it Dead

8. I am Fluent in Three Languages: English, Sarcasm, and Profanity

9. I Will Carry 20 Grocery Bags So I Don't Have to Make Another Trip

10. An Arbitrary Number of People Demanding That Some Sort of Action Be Taken

Most of these are funny but I might actually consider joining #7 because I'm a hater of spiders. Here's a 20 second reason I'd not be alone in the group:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6eOeUwXZPo

Might be wise if every week we take a day off and unplug from technology. Spend that time in actual eye contact with someone we love. Swap hours with facebook friends for actual face time with friends.

If a man would have friends, he must show himself friendly.

~ ~ ~

I went outside to find a friend and could not find one there.

I went outside to be a friend and friends were everywhere!

Why are you sitting here still reading this blog? Go outside! Be a friend! Go kiss your wife, hug your hubby, take a friend out to lunch!

Apparently Toby Keith wasn't cool either but found his own way around it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3umaLe37-LE&feature=fvwrel

Offline,

Kathy

DESTINATION UNKNOWN

2011-08-12T01:10:00.005-04:00

"OK, kids finish your homework and chores because we have a surprise waiting for you!" I lured.

"Dessert?" one guessed.

"Nope. It's a Destination Unknown!" I announced in my best echo-chamber voice.

Squeals of delight and math word-problem solving flew right along with copying spelling words. Hand-writing aside, homework was done in record time.

Doug and I did this with our children as well as youth groups through the years. The unknown held such a thrill of anticipation.

Sometimes we'd drive across town through Raleigh traffic with giggling and guessing from the back seat. Then we'd pull into the Pullen Park parking lot. (Try saying that fast three times!) Unison voices chimed, "Pullen Park! Picnic!"

The next hours we enjoyed family time on the playground, carousel or riding the little train in circles.

Kimberly & Kent at Pullen Park

Recently our firstborn, Kimberly, reminisced, "Sometimes your Destination Unknown would be a simple cookout at a friend's house. But it was so much more fun not knowing where we were going. I did it with our kids just last week to Krispy Kreme."

Probably this element of life surprise was woven into my life by Uncle Sam. As a Naval officer, Dad's orders came about every two years. He might make several location requests but nothing was guaranteed. Until the orders came it was a destination unknown. Newport, Rhode Island. Jacksonville, Florida. Norfolk, Virginia. Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Through the generations we've enjoyed Destination Unknown. It's a lifestyle for Christians. I've had this card posted on a door of our home ever since we moved to Florence to remind me of its truth.

"For I know the plan I have for you
says the Lord. . .:

God has ordered our steps through life right into eternity. Every day is planned if I choose to follow Him. Planned by Him though sometimes unknown to me. I haven't always squealed with delight in anticipation. I confess sometimes fear and doubt precede change. Adults like control. But as I recall our children being delighted children, I understand why they were so happy, even not knowing.

They trusted us.

They knew we loved them.

They knew it would be good.

That'll preach!

Lord, help me, as Your beloved child, to simply trust you with childlike faith, knowing You love me and will work all things together for good.

Sincerely,
Kathy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh65wLVbaww

'THMILE, 'THWEETIE!

2011-08-05T00:01:00.002-04:00

Be encouraged. Better yet, be an encourager.

Recently I read a verse and it spoke to me in a new way. Job 29:4 says, "I smiled at them. My look of approval was precious to them."

Have you ever been down but then a clerk smiles at you in the checkout line and you smile back? You're encouraged. Or in a reversal, a saleslady does a great job for you so you praise her and add a big grin of approval. You've encouraged her! It works both ways and can create a chain link. It costs nothing.

You can even encourage yourself with a smile. Try it. It takes fewer muscles than frowning. As we age our facial muscles sag, pretty much like all the others! Smiling gives you an instant face lift, increases your face value and makes you look younger.

When telemarketers are trained, they are taught to smile while speaking. You can actually hear the difference.

The medical community also discovered the truth of the Psalmist, "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine." Some patients are actually prescribed comedy TV-watching to help heal. Chemical changes actually take place as the body produces serotonin, the happy hormone.

I'm not suggesting an ignorant approach to life, prancing Pollyanna style through our doldrums. It's OK to sit on the pity pot occasionally. Just don't stay there long enough to get ring-around-the-hiney!

The oldest book in the Bible chronologically reinforces my simple message today. Smile approval and spread encouragement. If anyone had cause to drown in a frown, it was Job. Notice it was not his three friends who lifted his spirits. He himself knew the value of a smile.

So whether you're having a good day or a bad one, take a cue from that wonderful missionary poet, Amy Carmichael.

Before the winds that blow do cease,
Teach me to dwell within Thy calm:
Before the pain has passed in peace,
Give me, my God, to sing a psalm.
Let me not lose the chance to prove
The fullness of enabling love.
Oh love of God, do this for me:
Maintain a constant victory.

One step on your Victory Road is to smile!

Need a faith lift? SMILE!

Several times this week when I needed a good laugh, I watched this and relived my friends' encouragement from last weekend. It began as spontaneous after dinner music with the Parkers, Miles and Welches but when Ray Charles and an uninvited priest with rosary in hand showed up, it dissolved into laughter! Be encouraged!

2011-07-29T00:01:00.003-04:00

MIND

MATTER

(Get it? Mind OVER matter?)

I had a thought today. Before it dies of loneliness I decided to share it with you.

It began on facebook when my friend posted:

Rebecca Bentley Hall

‎... thanks to everyone for sending Birthday wishes to Carter. After saying prayers tonight, I was so tired I just stayed next to him for a little while. He said, "Mom?" I said, "Yes, Lord?" Then we cracked up laughing ...

My mind soared back to a time when I had a young son. Kent was watching TV when the phone interrupted him. He absent-mindedly answered, "Dear Heavenly Father. . ." Flabbergasted by his own words, he dropped the receiver and dove under the afghan, hiding.

Laughing, I rescued the receiver (and Kent) and heard my sister-in-law, Gwen, cracking up on the other end of the phone. She finally said, "Well, that's top billing for me but at least his mind is in the right place."

Mind. That was my thought today. Minds do a lot of things. Minds blank. Minds concentrate. Minds wander. Minds flash. Minds focus. We speak our mind. Sometimes we lose our minds! And others are out of their ever lovin' minds! Rev. Randy Cox used to pray before preaching, "Lord, gird up the loins of our minds." That's KJV talk for, "Pay attention!"

Rebecca and Kent misspoke but actually gave us a life lesson. Out of our minds or hearts our mouths often speak. God was on their minds. I wonder if we can say the same day by day? It bothers me to hear God's name used in vain. Even the abbreviated, popular acronym "OMG" often comes from Christians without thinking. Last time I looked not using God's name in vain was still one of the ten commandments. They're commandments, not suggestions.

Muse. Minds muse or think. Amusement literally means not thinking. While our minds need rest there's also the aspect of bringing those thoughts under control before spoken.

I see blogs sites using that word mind. A Piece of My Mind. Ramblings of My Mind. Folks share their thoughts. Maybe someone should start one called Mind Your Manners or Mind Your Own Business.

While OUR minds or thoughts need to focus on God, the mind-blower is that we are on God's mind. His thoughts are daily on us. The omniscient (all knowing) God of the universe thinks about me, knows my name, plans good for me every day.

How can I NOT center my thoughts, my prayers, my MIND on Him? Taking my cue from Kent and Rebecca, all I can and should say is

Dear Heavenly Father, yes, Lord.

2011-07-28T00:28:00.003-04:00

TECHNICALLY SPEAKING

(This is my last rerun blog. Beginning tomorrow I'll post a new one every Friday. If you care to be on my email weekly notice list just contact me at kathyhenderson47@gmail.com.)

Technology is illogical. At least to me it is! Makes no sense most of the time. I’m thankful God put some geeks in my life. Doug’s a beaver who reads the manual and follows the rules ver batim.

I’m admittedly an otter, a button pusher. I tend to see technology as a party waiting to happen. Let me give you four real life examples.

#1. Years ago when car doors first came out with push button locks, I got myself in trouble. Mary Jo Cox, our pastor’s wife, went on visitation with me one day across town. Now in Raleigh back then, that meant a good 20 minute drive, one way. We actually went to the home of a Hindu lady and she even showed us her altar.

When we left, I discovered I’d locked my keys in the Buick.

“May I please use your phone to call my husband?” The lady graciously let us back in, then we told her we’d wait by the car.

“Jo, Doug was in a staff meeting with your husband. I don’t think either of them are very happy about this interruption or coming to our rescue.”

We chatted and waited about 15 minutes, leaning on the car. I have no idea what possessed her to do this but she turned and tried the back door. It opened! We gasped in unison. I ran straight to it, pushed down the lock button and slammed the door shut again.

“Kathy! What are you doing? You just locked us out again!”

“I’m making Doug’s trip worthwhile, Mary Jo! And don’t you dare tell him.”

This was back before cell phones. She kept my secret. He wasn’t thrilled about spending 45 minutes of his morning helping us. Imagine how much less thrilled he’d have been knowing we really didn’t need him.

Several years later I confessed my ‘Page 2: the rest of the story.’ By then he could laugh about it. Humor is all about timing.

#2. Another evening we were out shopping with friends, Jerry and Pauline Padgett.

The men headed to hardware and we agreed to meet back at checkout. We finished before them and waited awhile then decided to have some fun...using store technology, the intercom system.

"Excuse me, ma'am, would you please page Dougie and Jerry? Tell them their mommies are waiting."

The nice lady obliged us as we stifled giggles, thinking how fun it was to embarrass them. Suddenly around the corner came a shopping cart flying toward us with one grown man IN it, the other barreling it into turbo. Both men yelling, "Mom-mmmmmyyyy! Mom-mmmmmyyyyy!"

Tables turned.

Might I add that Doug’s Master’s degree in Church Music and Jerry’s retired Naval Commander status, as an engineer and Annapolis grad, carry a great deal of dignity and respect? Well, not at that precise moment.

#3. More recently at Walmart the technology again backfired on me.

I saw a man in a faded T shirt and worn blue jeans crouch behind a necktie rack. He duck walked around an aisle, peeking as he maneuvered. Obviously he tried desperately not to be seen.

But I saw him.

Hurrying to find a worker, I breathlessly reported, “There’s a man in men’s wear. I think he might be shoplifting or something. He’s hiding.”

“What’s he wearing?” she whispered.

She was taking me quite seriously. It’s wonderful to be part of the Good Guys’ Team and help save the world. She asked me to quietly take her to him. We skulked around until I spotted him and pointed silently.

Placing her finger to her lips, she shushed me and ushered me away from him. Probably trying to protect me.

Then she softly spoke, “He’s one of Walmart’s employees. He's watching someone who may be shoplifting. We have them on surveillance.”

“But he looks so plain, just normal…”

Oh. I get it. Duh.

Go ahead, lady, USE your fancy technology…see if I ever try to help again. How embarrassing.

#4. Another day at Walmart Doug and I were shopping. (All roads go to Walmart. As does a big chunk of our paycheck.) We’d just gotten a new car and our first key fob.

“It’s very easy, Kathy,” Doug demonstrated on my fob.

"Nothing can go wrong, Honey." I hate when someone says that because it guarantees something will.

Dividing the list, we decided to meet back at the car when done. As I left the store, I spotted him walking about 15 cars ahead of me, almost to ours. He pulled out his shiny new fob and pressed Unlock.

I immediately pulled out mine and pressed Horn.

He had no idea I was behind him.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

Startled, he looked again at his fob and pressed Horn to stop. It did.

I waited about 3 seconds and hit my horn button again.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

He hit stop on his about three times. Real hard.
Once more I hit the horn but I think my laughter was louder. He spun around, spotted me and I could see his bewildered face trying to unravel the last 30 seconds.

Ain’t technology fun?

Until tomorrow with a shiny, brand new blog.

Blessings!

Kathy

THE PATH HOME

2011-07-27T00:05:00.000-04:00

(I first posted this blog almost 7 months ago, just moments after the death of my big brother, Bert. I still can't read it or hear the song at the end without tears. For us. Not him.)

"Just down yonder! Stay on the path, Kathy! We're almost there!" Grandma Tippett called over her shoulder as she led the way. Doug and I dutifully traipsed behind her through the cornfield.

"There it is!" she beamed. "Our first house and your daddy was born in that front bedroom, Kathy!" The rusty tin roof beckoned us to come sit under its shade.

Doug hoisted his camera and began shooting as Grandma and I stepped onto the rickety porch and peered through foggy windows into the dusty rooms. We heard him groan and looked back to see him ripping a plank from the house.

"That's old lighter wood, Doug," Grandma explained. He smiled knowingly. My understanding of that term came about a week later.

My husband is a man of many talents and interests. His photography, painting and woodworking dovetailed to create one of Daddy's most prized gifts, a painting of his birthplace.

Once the canvas was complete Doug took the lighter wood to his shop. "I'm making the frame from the actual house siding." A few minutes later I looked out my kitchen window to see smoke billowing from his shop.

I rushed out to save Doug from the fire, only to find it was that hard wood plank stressing his table saw, filling the room with smoke.

"Feel it, Kathy," he offered as he handed me the wood. I touched the smooth cut he'd just made. It was warm and hard as marble. NOW I understood what the term lighter wood meant. The old heart-of-the-tree wood was petrified.

Daddy and Grandma are probably on their homeplace front porch even now in a new home "where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt."

No doubt they welcomed Bert home as he entered glory just moments ago. My big brother, Bert. . .firstborn of a firstborn. . .in heaven because God gave His "only begotten Son."

Grandma on her old front porch reminiscing

"I'm staying on the path, Grandma! Tell Daddy and Bert we're coming home! One day. . .we're all coming home!"

Bert, leading the way home, with his firstborn, Brian, following his Dad's footsteps.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XQaaRR_NjQ&feature=related

Doug's Paintings

Still life in my piano studio

Seascape hangs in our bedroom.
I picture Peter walking on water here when I need a FAITH lift!

Whether life today finds you at peace or in a storm, the only path Home is Jesus.

Hope to see you there one day,

Kathy

Bert wrote a 2-part blog for me over a year ago, sharing lessons he learned from cancer. You may find his perspective an encouragement.

http://kathyhenderson.blogspot.com/2009/09/bert-my-big-brother-shares-his-recent.html

http://kathyhenderson.blogspot.com/2009/09/ten-things-cancer-has-shown-me-by-bert.html

2011-07-26T01:33:00.000-04:00

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT FRIENDS

Friendship Part 1

(When this blog ran a year and a half ago it drew many emails and comments. It seemed to be a common thread among hearts. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comment section at the end. Friendship Part 2 is below it.)

It was a dark and stormy night. It really was. Not just a cheesy beginning to pulp fiction but our real life.

Our younger daughter, Katy, taught at a Christian school, her own alma mater, in NC. Well, not the last few days. A bad flu bug held her hostage, alone in her apartment, trying to feel better. Without Mama and chicken soup, however, her fever crept up.

Then the weatherman announced, "...big snow storm coming...stock up on supplies...power failures expected..."

That storm was roaring towards my baby, due to hit in four hours. These were Katy's post-college and pre-marriage years. She lived three hours away from us. Now anyone who knows me realizes I'm not an overly protective mother. At times I was probably better at giving them wings than roots. Their independence was my goal and I'd worked myself out of a job. (Doug and I actually love the empty nest but don't tell the kids. They think we miss them!)

But this night was different. She was very sick. Quite alone. This was a big storm and she had no supplies stocked up. Neither she nor her medicine was working!

I picked up the phone, dialed from memory a Greenville number, and heard the familiar voice, "Hello?"

"Phyllis! I'm so glad I reached you." I told her the scenario. Within moments she and Bobby went to Katy's, packed a few belongings for her, bundled her in a blanket and headed for I-95 S to meet me. My baby needed Mama and home.

In sync I grabbed a heavy coat and Doug excused me from choir practice with his blessings and prayers. I headed up I-95 N, to meet them at Cracker Barrel in Smithfield. Time was crucial to beat this storm. Rescuing her by myself before the storm hit was impossible. But friends meeting me halfway cut that travel time to one and a half hours. If our timing went perfectly, we should all be safely home in three hours, one hour before the storm.

By 8:00 PM Katy slept in my back seat heading toward SC and chicken soup. We had smoothly passed the baton (Katy) and finished the marathon just ahead of the storm.

Do you have a friend you'd call in the middle of the night? I call without hesitation and mine come without hesitation.

That was not the only time I've called on our dear friends during storms of life. They come. They love. Regardless. They're selfless. And they know I'd do the same for them.

I say I married the best man at our wedding and Doug smiles humbly. Actually, Bobby filled the role as our best man. After the ceremony we all stood way too long in the receiving line, achy smiles pasted in place. Doug slipped aside to take a break, sitting on a nearby piano bench. Not realizing his absence, I turned to introduce a relative to my new husband, "This is Doug." But there stood Bobby, grinning.

He stood UP at the wedding.

He stood IN at the reception.

They've stood BY us for 45 years!

Phyllis and Bobby (our college years)

Bobby at our wedding and our receiving line

Doug takes a break

I'm rich.

Recently I heard that women need 6 types of friends:

1. Childhood

2. New

3. Workout

4. Spiritual

5. Younger

6. Your partner's friend

While I have most on that list, some rolled into one, I'd add that we need one more type friend, a middle-of-the-night friend. A stormy weather friend.

I've thought about what it took in life to have a Phyllis. I can only share what glues us together:

* a shared history

* honesty, being real, transparent (about our good and bad stuff)

* tears and laughter

* a deep spiritual connection

* respect for similar values

* loving and liking each other

* a willingness to give to each other, even when inconvenient or unscheduled

* nurturing our time together, valuing it, not rushing through, but savoring it (Phyllis and I still set aside 1-3 hours a week just to catch up. By the way HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Phyl!)

Your list may be different but that's mine. As I read it, I think it fits other women God's placed in my life like Jan Banks and Trudy Miles. I could tell similar stories of shared memories with them--like climbing into a tornado shelter or up into a church belfry, tears of joy over the surprise announcement of a pregnancy, get-aways to Mayberry RDF (Mt. Airy) or bed and breakfasts. But those are other blogs. Life shared with friends.

My new friends, younger friends, workout friends are wonderful and important in my life too. I couldn't handle five days a week at Curves without them! One is also a writer for a local newspaper and she encourages my writing. Thanks, Kaye.

But my cherished friends are my middle-of-the-night ones.

Life bombards us with bad news--economic crises, financial failure, job losses, foreclosures, war, earthquakes, Conan and Leno feuding! But friends remain. Real friends. True friends. Invest in them. Invest your time, energy, love, trust and respect.

"Love is patient, love is kind, love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres...

Love never fails...

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is LOVE."

I Cor. 13: 4-8, 13.

I love this passage from The Message too:

"Love never gives up.

Love cares more for others than for self.

Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.

Love doesn't strut,

Doesn't have a swelled head,

Doesn't force itself on others,

Isn't always "me first,"

Doesn't fly off the handle,

Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,

Doesn't revel when others grovel,

Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

Puts up with anything,

Trusts God always,

Always looks for the best,

Never looks back, but keeps going to the end.

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.

Our plans may be interrupted by storms, but God's never are. He makes available both His love and the love of friends. They help us weather those dark and stormy nights of life.

Windblown but still sailing,

Kathy

HOW TO GET RICH

2011-07-26T01:24:00.001-04:00

(Friendship Part 2)

First posted Feb. '09

"Mama! Are we RICH?" My little Kimberly's big brown eyes widened as she watched me open the large bag of hand-me-downs from a friend.

"What?"

Pointing to the second bag, she declared, "Cause we got TWO bags of hand-me-downs this time! And stickers!"

Laughing, I agreed, "Yes, Baby, we're rich. Rich in friends."

If you start indoctrinating them young enough, PKs tend to think used clothes are couture and left-overs are a basic food group.

If I knew how to make money by investing in the stock market, I'd tell you how. In a seminar. Then I'd make more money.

What I do know from experience is how to be rich in friends. Yet I also know what loneliness is. I think God let me experience that a few years ago for several reasons. So this and last week's blogs on friendship are just me, one beggar on the road of life, sharing bread with another.

About 12 years ago my pastor, Mike, asked me, "So, Kathy, now that you're settled in, how do you like it here in Florence?"

"Do you want a politically correct answer or the truth?"

"The truth."

"Dr. Mike, I've never been lonely in my life until coming here. I find the time at church allows for us to be friendly but not friends."

We talked about it and eventually launched a new ministry. Ministries are often born from our lives' hard places. I began a supperclub for the purpose of fellowship. We still meet monthly for a good meal in a home setting. It's open to any adult at church who cares to join.

Supperclub 4th of July

C.S. Lewis said, "Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God, how you learn." Now I recognize loneliness better in others and I learned how to build new friendships. (They differ from the middle-of-the-night friends I shared with you last week.)

"I went outside to find a friend

And could not find one there.

I went outside to be a friend

And friends were everywhere."

* Initiate. Some people just wait on others to plan time together. I find when I pick up the phone with, "Hey! You want to go out for lunch Friday?" people are eager.

* Meet a need. When someone needs a meal, a card, a sympathetic ear, or a casserole, do it. Folks celebrating a baby's birth or hurting from a family death or illness have real needs. Meeting those needs may forge friendship. Foxhole friends can be enduring and endearing. When someone is down, reach out and lift!

"A friend is the first one in the door

when the rest of the world walks out."

* Give. Give more than you take. Be the first to give. Don't keep score. I try to do this in business as well. Unselfishness should be our hallmark in social or business circles. Friends can be found in both arenas.

* Listen. Listen more than you talk as you get to know someone. You learn when you listen. People appreciate a soft shoulder and good ear rather than someone unloading on them too early in the relationship. Bank some deposits before making withdrawals.

"Folks don't care how much you know,

until they know how much you care."

* Trust God. That sounds strange but as my faith in Him grows, I'm better able to trust others. Not a Pollyanna launch into befriending the world! But I find lonely people may have been hurt, betrayed or abandoned to the point that they dare not risk their heart again. As God fills that hole in their heart, heals the hurt with His grace, forgiveness and love, they can then give grace, forgiveness and love to others. A better vertical relationship with God builds good horizontal ones with people.

Someone recently said, "My experience lately has been that loneliness is a longing for God and not for other people. Who hasn't been lonely in a crowded room? It is only God that can make that deepest yearning go away."

* Don't require too much from a new friend. There are friends in life for a season or a reason. No one person can meet all your needs. The load breaks down any relationship, especially fragile, new ones. Let God do that work in you first, then your dependence on Him frees you up. The goal is not to be independent...that leads back to isolation and loneliness. But you can choose then to be interdependent. We were created for community. Lone Rangers are easily picked off!

Everybody needs a Tonto!

* Accept without demanding change. We all want acceptance, just as God gives to us. Yet sometimes even with our spouses, we don't accept them as they are but try to change them. That's His job! Learn to love variety in friends and flowers. Everyone's not like you and no two people on earth agree on everything. Those differences grow you, open you to new things and ideas. I'm sure glad my friends accept my weirdness.

* Be yourself. Be real, open and honest and the rapport grows naturally. Some folks try too hard to impress or cling to you. They'll be whatever they think you want. That clinginess smothers friendship. Until one is comfortable with herself, she'll find true friendships hard to build. All relationships need a foundation of honesty or they eventually crumble.

Dr. Seuss advises, "Be who you are because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." Smart man! Bet he had lots of friends!

So there you have my get-rich scheme. Invest in your friends and you'll be enriched for a lifetime!

Blessings!
Kathy

YOUNG'UN! THAT'S NOT A SINK!

2011-07-24T23:22:00.000-04:00

Recently at supperclub I heard raucous guffawing coming from the table in the next room. Hating to miss a good laugh, I ambled in. Several ladies were wiping away tears and the story-teller backed it up to repeat his yarn for me.

Harry grinned, "As a kid I was playing in the bathtub when Mama walked in and started hollerin' at me, 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT THING?' So I stopped blowing bubbles, pulled the rubber hose outta my mouth and tried to explain how I was playing Sea Hunt and I was Lloyd Bridges.

'Mama, that red rubber bottle hanging up there is my scuba tank, the tube coming down here, my leads to my regulator and I'm just blowing into my mouth gear here.'

She looked sick, snatched away my pretend equipment with, 'Harry! Never put that in your mouth again! It's NOT scuba equipment!'

It was years later before I realized what it was. But to a kid, it all looked like great scuba gear."

Harry, also a military brat, grew up to become a certified scuba diver, even though he cut his teeth on humble beginnings.

I laughed, "Harry, you remind me of my own adventure when I was about five or six years old."

They egged me on, not that I needed it.

"Daddy was in the Navy and had the duty, which means he spent the night on his ship in port. So the family sometimes joined him for supper and a movie on board.

I needed to use the bathroom. They call it the head. There was no ladies' head so Dad cleared out the men's and guarded the door for me.

I rejoined him and we started back to his quarters as I chattered, 'That was a weird sink, Daddy. That long one on the wall had water running down it and I never could turn it on and off. I just ran my hands up and down it to get 'em wet. But that hard soap in the little, wire basket hanging there wouldn't lather either.'

Suddenly Daddy deciphered my words. He stopped so abruptly I nearly plowed into him. We about-faced back to the restroom. He flung open the door again, pointed to my funny-looking long sink and declared, 'YOUNG'UN! THAT IS NOT A SINK!'

Then pointing to another wall behind me, 'THAT's a sink!'

Oh. I'd not even seen that.

He held both my hands together with his long fingers gripped firmly around my little wrists. He hoisted me as we marched to the men's head sink, my feet air-marching over the deck. Then he handed me a bar of soap, commanding, 'Now, Kathy, you wash again and scrub hard all the way up to your elbows!' He inspected my every move until I passed.

It was years later before I realized what a urinal was. Little girls don't have much occasion for seeing the interior of men's rooms!"

However, I was married while traveling late one night when we stopped for gas. I awoke and stumbled to the bathroom while Doug filled the car. As I flushed the toilet, I spotted a sign on the wall over the tank:

WE AIM TO PLEASE!

YOU AIM, TOO, PLEASE!

I thought out loud, "That doesn't make any sense, unless you're in a men's room. . ."

YOU'RE IN A MEN'S ROOM!

I quickly remounted, lifting my feet. I tried to become invisible in my stall, until the MEN in the other stalls left!

Recently I found this new and improved version of the sign:

I'm a slow learner but gradually becoming an expert on the obvious!

Still flushing and blushing,

Kathy