DIVINE APPOINTMENT

Every Friday morning we have a small group of ladies who come to our villa for a Bible study. Today's was different. Martha came in with, "I've had a hard morning." Just hours earlier she got a call that her grandson was dead, overdosed on drugs. Doug and I prayed with her as the others came in one by one, learning her shocking news. As Doug left the room, we ministered as only godly women can. It was one of my life's most powerful hours. My sister-in-love, Gwen, was our facilitator for this time together. We listened. We wept. We passed around tissues. We prayed. Then we went to the Word as planned. Our text for the day was perfect because we serve a perfect, sovereign God. Gwen said, "Today's verses speak of peace beyond our understanding."

We stood on holy ground as God ministered to and through us all. In life's toughest struggles God manifests Himself and shouts to us in our pain. He delivers unfathomable peace and joy, just as His Word promises. We focused on all that was true, honorable, worthy of praise and He ushered in His PEACE and JOY. We even found laughter, like a heavenly medicine. Gwen suggested we sing a song rather than pray to dismiss. We gathered around my piano and sang "I've got peace like a river, I've got peace like a river, I've got peace like a river in my soul. . . I've got joy like a fountain, I've got joy like a fountain, I've got joy like a fountain in my soul." And we did! After lunch I played chair volleyball with Martha's husband. I quietly spoke condolences and asked, "Did Martha tell you what happened today when we met?" "No, not yet. But she came home different!" Time with Jesus does that.

KNEELING AT BETHLEHEM

Silent Night

Not a creature is stirring

All is calm

These familiar phrases wrap this particular Christmas in a strange aura.

This 2020 season is so different from any other I’ve known. Last year we hosted not one, but TWO open houses here by this time.  We had not one, but TWO trees fully decorated and glowing.  

This year there’s no Christmas church program to direct, no choir cantata, no shopping for gifts, not even a tree.  Doug and I have a blank calendar without parties to attend. Sounds sad, doesn’t it?  But I’m not sad. Many folks are missing the normal hustle and bustle of Christmas.

I am not.

I am quiet, still.

Yes, it is different, simpler but maybe I hear and see Him even better this year.  He slipped into our world very simply, quietly too.  Lowing cattle were His only cantata.

Doug built this nativity. The Japanese maple hovers, like a scarlet canopy.

We did decorate the outside of our house so neighbors wouldn’t think us Scroogey.  A few weeks ago I announced, “Doug, I have the perfect gift for you this year!”  His expression was a question mark so I continued, “Let’s not put up a tree this year!”   

He genuinely shouted, “Hallelujah!”  To say he dislikes tree decorating is a huge understatement.  A few days later I voiced a mild change of heart.  He was having no part of that. 

My sweet mentor, Nancy Sandgren, scolded me, “You CAN NOT not have a tree up!  We’ll kick you out of Scotia!" A double negative from Nancy just means you better do it and pronto.   So she loaned me a little table top tree of hers, already lit.  Doug agreed to plug it in.  Done!  He can do 5 minute tree décor.

Terry Hill asked me to do door decoration judging.  How?  Virtually.  “The pictures will come to your computer, Kathy.”  So it’s a sofa task.  Can do.

Chaplain Linda asked, “Can you and Doug sing and play a few carols to broadcast on our TV channel for Christmas week? “  Sure.  So we did, with an iPad and a grand piano in an otherwise empty auditorium.  Doug invited unseen friends to sing along.  Maybe they will Christmas week.  Maybe.

All is still.

Quieter.

Some of our new friends are in pain.  Harry’s wife died a few days ago.  We knocked on his door as the sun set and prayed with him, six feet away and masked.

Our friend, Ron, lost his best friend to death last week.  I phoned him to offer condolences and prayed as he wept audibly.  Later I saw him in line for supper.  I broke both rank and rules.  I slipped up behind him and hugged him, my masked face to his back.  He mustered, “Thank you.”  I think it may be his first hug in months.  A lady in line behind us teased, “Ohhh, I’m telling.”  But she won’t, as her masked smile relayed.

No gold, frankincense nor myrrh this year.  Few gifts to wrap. Mostly checks and cash to family.  But sometimes it’s just a phone call, a hug, a poinsettia, a carol played and sung or a prayer we offer.  Quiet gifts.  In His name.

Doug and I both have wondered why we are enjoying this strange year.  Then the answer came yesterday.

It was Sunday afternoon as I sunned in the backyard, soaking up the last warm rays of the year.  Another dear mentor and friend, Linda McLester, waved and blew me kisses from two yards away.  She too was sunning from her swing.

Minutes later she came over and handed me a book.  “You know I adore your bones so I want you to enjoy this special book.”  We chatted, relishing the goodness of God and our blessings, as we often do.  She always mentions the woods and deer connecting our back yards.  We both see it as a gift from the Father of Lights.

After she left our love fest, I read half of the poetry book, Kneeling in Bethlehem by Ann Weems.  It’s an old book, written over 40 years ago.  With nowhere to go, nothing in particular to do, I savored each page and the message, so fitting for this quieter, stiller Christmas.

This Advent let’s go to Bethlehem

And see this thing that the Lord has made known to us.

In the midst of shopping sprees

Let’s ponder in our hearts the Gift of Gifts.

Through the tinsel

Let’s look for the gold of the Christmas Star.

In the excitement and confusion in the merry chaos,

Let’s listen for the brush of angels’ wings.

This Advent, let’s go to Bethlehem

And find our kneeling places.

That’s it!  The poet describes exactly why we’re enjoying this Christmas in ways never before experienced.  With the tinsel, bustle, chaos and sprees gone, the focus is clear, the message simple.

We have seen the Christ.

The one display we agreed to use this year fills our dining table and goes to the heart, taking us to Bethlehem that first quiet, simple Christmas.

 FINDING HUMOR IN GROWING OLD

WHAT GOD IS TEACHING ME THROUGH COVID

 

 

The world is chaotic.                   Jesus is Peace.

Government is broken.               One day government will be on His shoulders.

Lies and distortions abound.      Jesus is Truth.

Fear is contagious.                     Faith in Jesus is also contagious.

World news is unsettling.            God’s Good News is reassuring.

The times are changing.             God is eternal.

Medical help may fail.                 Jesus heals souls eternally.

Focusing on events brings fear.  Focusing on God brings faith.

Jobs and money may fail.           Jehovah Jireh is my Provider.

Angry critics yammer.                 Praise invites God to inhabit us.

Complaining is easy.                   Counting blessings brings smiles.

Death and tears are common.    God wipes all tears away.

Unrest disturbs our spirits.          Music calms the soul.

Today is but one day.                  God plants eternity within us. 

Nothing makes sense.                We will understand it better by and by.       

Sunday before last there was an earthquake here.  Some felt it in the morning.  I slept through it.  That same evening a double rainbow appeared here.  I didn't miss that!  (See below prayer.) Both were solid reminders of the times in which we live and of God's promises and sovereignty.      

 

Right over our house here:

And our neighborhood:

                                                  His banner over me is love.

NANA, MAY I ASK YOU A QUESTION?

Elizabeth, our oldest granddaughter, asked if she could ask me a question.  That's her way.  Most just pop it out, but gracious, considerate E asked for permission first.  

Before I tell you what she asked, let me introduce you to our beautiful Elizabeth.  Her passion runs deep and especially for Jesus.


 

She's a wise 18 year old, going on 33.  Why 33?  Because Jesus was 33 and she is very Christlike. Oh, she's also very witty, goofy, mouthy and sarcastic.  A lot like. . .me.  We both have so many words that they overflow into writing.

Me with Kimberly, E's mom.

Three generations at Home Good, stimulating the economy, 
midst Covid19.

Last Friday I flew to Florida for a long weekend with Kimberly, our first born, and family.  It was time to break out of isolation and what better place than the Sunshine state? We laughed, cried, talked, played games, watched a Redbox movie (I Still Believe--recommend it), shopped, sunned by a pool and ate extremely well.  

Before I get to THE QUESTION Elizabeth asked me, she posed a second question with a quicker answer.  "Nana, I'm learning to drive.  Want to take a ride with me through the neighborhood?"  Those last three words made my answer a ready yes.  After all, I'd survived a spin with Sean, another grand, through his neighborhood.  I'm a much better sidekick with my grands learning to drive than I was as a mother of three teens when they learned!

During our ride, ranging in speed from 4-11 mph, she asked if she could ask me a question.

"Sure."


"Nana, why are you always so happy?" 

At first I was stunned at her perception of me, thinking to myself, Well, I'm not ALWAYS happy. So my honest answer at first was, "I have feelings too," meaning other feelings.

Kimberly, her mom, quipped back teasing me in a cute pout, "Yeah. I have feelings too." We laughed at her poochie lip.

Then I gave her my serious answer, never really thinking about it before her question.  "Elizabeth, I don't believe there's a difference between the word happiness and joy.  Some do and relate it to circumstances.  My source is the Lord, pure and simple."

She nodded her little philosophical head. 

So I continued, "When I do have negative emotions, like fear or hurt, I just don't linger there.  'You can sit on the pity pot.  Just don't stay there long enough to get ring-around-the-hiney.'   

It's a choice and I choose joy.  I want to be happy so I rely on the joy of the Lord. It's His joy just spilling into me, if I allow it to flow.  He gave me an optimistic outlook in life, but it's still a choice. So I choose not to dwell on the negative, but instead look beyond that and see Him. Then His steadfast joy absorbs me."

She seemed satisfied.  So the discussion ended.

~~~~~~~~~~

Since then, however, I've mulled a bit on her question.  Several tidbits surfaced:

* I'm thankful to be seen as a happy person.
* Thankfulness is also at the root of my joy.
* Kimberly as a young child expressed it, "I'm thankful we have a lot of laughness in our family."
* Humor is a huge contributor to our collective family happiness.  Sometimes it's wacky and borderline inappropriate but often breaks through and demolishes the mulligrubs!
* Mostly I'm thankful for God's Sovereignty in my life, knowing the final chapter will end in eternal joy. 




So why not pray, "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven" and begin that happiness here and now?  Then just ride that joy tide right into eternal glory!

MOTHER'S DAY

One of my sweetest gifts came on Mother's Day from my firstborn.  Kimberly reminded me of the title she bestowed on me when she made me a mother.  Then a lifetime of blessings followed through Kent and Katy. Facebook was her stage and podium.

 

May 10 at 3:46 PM · 

So, my mama's better (and funnier and wackier and cooler) than yours was a game I won. Every. Time. I'm convinced that some of my dates, when I was a teen were guys actually crushing on my mom (sheesh).

Requiring costumes for airport pickups, impromptu (daily!!) singalongs, giggly ugly hat try-ons (often unappreciated by sales staff) were just everyday life with Mom. There's a reason Brian and Karen Tippett Hampton call her "Crazy Aunt Kathy."

Impressively, she's also a passionate Jesus-follower, authentic before it was cool, secure in her identity, and warrior-conqueror through soul-crushing trials. She truly leans on Jesus. Her humility, love for Christ, energy and natural leadership are magnetic.

Now, incredibly, she was a stay-at-home mom, packing lunches with love notes, supporting us through learning multiple instruments and hobbies, cheering our academic progress and just teaching old-fashioned life skills.

She did it all with such grace and zaniness (sooo much wacky, dark humor. We choose to embrace our weirdness). She balanced mercy and truth. She championed us, yet kicked our butts, when needed.
She set the bar high for motherhood, then grandmotherhood.

Thanks, Mom, for everything.

SCOTIA’S TRIAL

(May be sung to the tune of GILLIGAN’S ISLE)

 Our Scotia Village Retirement Community had a poetry contest recently.  After a week at the beach Doug and I were quarantined to our villa for two weeks.  So with time on our hands, he worked in the yard and I wrote this poem.  It won FIRST PLACE.  My prize was a golden roll of toilet paper, now proudly displayed in our curio cabinet.  It could become one of the most valuable pieces in our collection!

        

SCOTIA’S TRIAL

(May be sung to the tune of GILLIGAN’S ISLE)

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale

A tale of a special place

Called Scotia Village standing proud

With challenges to face.

With challenges to face.

Our leader was a mighty man

Named Allen brave and sure

His residents and staff had plans

To keep us all secure.

To keep us all secure.

We must adjust, save gas and reach

For one more magazine.

Protection for our friends now means

Remain in quarantine!

Remain in quarantine!

The virus started getting rough

Our neighborhood was tossed.

If not for the courage of the fearless crew

All Scotia would be lost!

All Scotia would be lost!

The grocery shelves were running low

On toilet paper first.

Then food became a premium.

The battle’s getting worse!

The battle’s getting worse!

But Ken and Steve with mighty staff

Provided meals to go.

We even got our ice cream treats

Delivered like a show!

Delivered like a show!

Then Ellen led our exercise

From driveways one and all.

Just bring your 2 tin cans and come.

Be careful not to fall!

Be careful not to fall!

We’ll get through this 6 feet apart

If everyone complies.

Trust God, He’ll meet our every need.

Through saints He still supplies!

Through saints He still supplies!

HERE AT SCOTIA VILLAGE!

WE WAITED 40 YEARS FOR YESTERDAY'S APPOINTMENT

“Mrs. Henderson, would you be interested in helping our school next door with their book fair?  We’d like to inspire students to write and wondered if you’d be willing to host a Meet An Author session.”  

It was billed as a gala evening with students, parents, teachers and a few authors, even a story-teller.  I gladly agreed.  Last night was a grand success as I talked with several budding authors.

In preparation, on Monday I asked Doug, “Any idea where my box of writing is stored?”  After searching we finally found it!  As I plundered through magazines and newspaper pieces, I found this:

Almost 40 years ago I had written the editor of Raleigh’s News and Observer about recent news.  Unable to recall the details, I Googled it and read about Delta Force attempting to rescue the 52 American hostages held in Iran.  The effort ended in tragedy with helicopters down and death to our soldiers.

I gasped, realizing my next door neighbor, Dennis Wolfe, was a member of that special forces group.  I knew he was part of Operation Eagle Claw.  Doug saw him later yesterday morning, “Dennis, got a minute to come over?  Kathy has something for you to read.”

He sat across from me yesterday on our sofa as I handed him the yellowed clipping.   


"To the Editor:

Not since soldiers like my dad returned from World War II have we felt such pride in our country and gratitude to God. The events of the last 14 months have had one positive effect--unity for our country. 

The true heroes, however, are the eight noble men who gave their lives in the rescue attempt.  Each made the conscious choice to risk his life to save others and our national honor. Their families are to be admired for their continued patriotism, even in their loss.  Such brave men throughout history have endowed us with our precious freedom.

Kathy Henderson
Jan. 28, 1981"


He read silently then grinned hugely, moved by my patriotism even back then as a young mother of 3.  He met my eyes and I said, “Once again, I thank you for your service.”

“Can I get a copy of this?”  he asked. Doug took it to our copier.  We both realized this was not just a coincidence but a divine appointment, almost 40 years in the making.  He shook his head adding, “You never imagined when you wrote it that we’d be next door neighbors, did you, Kathy?”

“No, but God did.”

Then we spent the next hour just talking about His hand in our lives, weaving the tapestry, bringing us into the persons we are today. 

DENNIS: one of 6 kids. . .few jobs in his small Pennsylvania town. . . fresh out of high school, enlisting in the Army.  Three recruiting stations stood in a row, before him.  He reached for the Navy office.  Out to lunch.  Then the Air Force door.  Locked.  Third try was Army.  He shared the twists and turns of life that seemed random at the time but led him into becoming the military’s point man for dismantling weapons of mass destruction, whether atomic, nuclear or chemical.  Awards. Medals.  A building named after him.  Four U.S. Presidents he’d protected supporting Secret Service.  

Dennis Wolf's Story of Military Valor click here

 

KATHY: young mother of 3 just beginning to write. . .Jack Williams, Contact editor, her mentor. . .Navy brat of an officer. . .her daddy instilled deep patriotism in her heart.   
News of fallen soldiers moved her to write the newspaper.  Unknown soldiers.

Daddy as a Naval officer

Daddy as an enlisted man

But yesterday I heard first hand from one of those soldiers who DID know them and grieved back then. Together we grieved again almost half a century later.

“Dennis, do you think God had this planned all along?”

“Absolutely.  I used to think things like this were coincidence.  No more.”

Dennis (in black) took a trip with us recently to Hamlet Train Depot and museum.
Friday we're going back for the buffet again!

We enjoy our new neighbors. Dennis and Corlee Wolf joined us for our Christmas Open House and he helped Doug place our Nativity.  Next day, he called out to me, twinkle in his eye, "Hey Kathy!  Last night my OCD kicked in and if those wise men are supposed to be coming from the East, we got it wrong." (Strategic planners never quit!)

"It's OK, Dennis.  Theologically they're also a couple of years early.  You and Doug can get it right next Christmas!"



Yesterday still holding the newspaper clipping and copy, we talked heart to heart about God’s hand in our low points, prayers we’d prayed, miraculous answers beyond all we asked or thought.

“Doug, I can almost picture God watching this all play out today, slapping his knee with delight, as we discovered the appointment He planned so personally for us 40 years ago!”

What a mighty God we serve!

"My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them" (Psalms 139:15-16