In 1937, an ingenious businessman purchased a secret ‘raised yeast’ recipe from a French pastry chef and started pumping out Krispy Kreme Doughnuts from a factory in Old Salem, NC. The original plan called for the doughnuts to be sold through grocery outlets but the fragrance wafting through the streets of Salem soon brought customers pounding on the doors. So, Vernon Rudolph cut a window out of the side of his building and starting selling original glazed to passing pedestrians. By the ‘60s, Krispy Kreme had spread its distribution throughout the Southeast US but, in 1973, it’s founder passed and the company was forced to sell to a large food conglomerate. Thankfully in 1982 some of the original investors bought it back and became nearly evangelical in spreading the Krispy Kreme Gospel from New York to California, then globally. Today, you can find a ‘Hot Doughnuts Now’ sign hanging in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of History and at the corner of Charles & 10th.

I seldom see that sign without enjoying a fond childhood memory. The last car my Dad owned and drove was a 1950s Chevrolet that he called the Mayflower. The car and my childhood both predate child restraint laws; but my parents were safety conscious so my sister and I were relegated to the massive bench seat in the back. Barely able to see over the front bench, I can remember my father’s eyes in the rear-view mirror playfully talking to us, the smoke of his cigarette circles blowing back around our heads.

Most Friday nights, we’d load into the Mayflower and head for Krispy Kreme across town. We’d sit in the parking lot until the ‘Hot’ sign was flipped on, then Dad would run in and snag a dozen, placing them on the seat between he and mom as we headed for home. Midway, like clock work and yet to our childish glee, the tires would screech, the car would whip through a u-turn sending my sister and me tumbling happily across that massive seat and onto the floorboard as we headed back to Krispy Kreme…cause that first dozen was so good it called for another. That’s correct, he and mom had downed the whole dozen secretly and playfully…week after week…to our childish glee.

Between my 6th and 7th year of school, Dad slipped into Heaven. I went from the familiarity of my neighborhood grade school to the pubescent trials of Junior High and adjusted to life without him. Though shy and quiet, I also went from being a mediocre student to an honor roll student that year. That eventually opened doors for me to develop some leadership skills and participate in activities that stretched my imagination and outlook for the future. It took years and a fair bit of counseling for me to understand and appreciate that what I’d feared the most in my life had happened, and that I’d survived. In fact not only did I survive, I thrived.

I found myself thinking of this anomaly as we’ve worked our way through the Epic Faith series and now into Broken Dreams. Like many of you, John Allen Conway’s ‘lay and pray’ struck a cord and is imbedded in my mind. More than once I’ve tried to understand why God didn’t heal my Daddy, why we spent 10 years with cancer hanging over our heads, why certain names and numbers are etched into my memory, why at 9,10 and 11 years old, I had to know what to do if I came home and found…, why I admire my mother’s commitment and tenacity and long for her to see Daddy and Jesus as much as she does herself. And why I love and trust God so deeply and accept His guidance as a loving Father; why I’m drawn to artist renderings that emphasize His eyes. And why I believe for miracles before, during and after. Faith in God in the small moments really will be faith in God in the epic moments. And sometimes those epic moments come in the aftermath.

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Deana Kennedy
Co-Pastor & Life Groups Director

My family took our first and only vacation while my Dad was alive in June of 1967. It was one year to the day before he was promoted to heaven and a couple years after the tentacles of a tumor had threaded itself into the crevices of his brain. The surgical removal left him paralyzed on much of his right side, causing his face to droop like softened wax. I can vividly recall my once tall, dark, handsome and burly, truck-­driving father turning the right side of his face away from frightened children and curious adults.

Unless my Dad flew during his military service, it was also the first time any of us had flown on a plane. Storm clouds and rain delayed our departure from Greensboro, bound for a week in sunny Florida as guests of Dad’s old partner in crime from school. We landed in Atlanta behind schedule and on the opposite side of the airport from our connecting flight. As novice travelers, my parents shifted into panic mode and assumed the responsibility of making the connection themselves, it never occurred to them to ask for help. I can remember Dad hobbling through that crowded airport, stumbling often, sweat coursing down his flushed cheeks and trying to navigate the confusion. We finally reached the gate as our flight lifted its nose and soared.

This was during a time when airline customer service, passenger comfort and care were at it’s highest. As soon as we approached the counter and the attendant surmised the circumstances, all of Eastern Airlines went in to full alert, acknowledging a gross oversight on their part. Within moments we were booked on the first flight out on a different airline, our hosts contacted about our delay, privately shuttled with two attendants to our new gate, given souvenirs, lapel wings by both Eastern and Delta, upgraded in status, served a steak dinner topped with an umbrella in our colas and a thousand, ‘I’m sorrys’…it did not end until we deplaned in Florida with attendants and shuttles and our luggage delivered curbside to our waiting hosts!

As Pastor Aaron comically told his own story of his recent flight to NYC in Part 1 of our current Message series: Heart to Heart, I remembered that day so long ago. His story unfolded of delayed flights, missed connections, game tickets switched, frantic phone call, tears and angst. Then suddenly terminal gates miraculously opened, crowds abated, and NYC drivers that really will ‘step on it!’ to deliver. Happily, they slid into their seats just as Derek Jeter stepped up to bat in Yankee Stadium. But his story wasn’t complete without confessing that he’d panicked and shifted into fix-­it mode, assuming responsibility to make this picture come together himself…with little mention of prayer.

The essence of our Heart to Heart series is making that connection with God that serves not only our ever lengthening list of wants and needs, but including Him in our daily, moment by moment experiences in life. By making Him a part of our thought processes, our decisions, our creativity, our plans and yes, our dreams and desires, along with our challenges, problems and fears…really knowing Him, heart to heart. That relationship with Him is where I’ve learned that my reality isn’t God’s finality. That He’s interested in the souls of men AND in what restores the soul of man…whether that be our next meal, school supplies, Yankee tickets or a simple daisy along the way.

Take a look at the photo above; it’s a photo of flights in US airspace at 6:00 PM on any given night in 2005; those little red dots are thousands of planes at one time. I couldn’t find anything more recent but my guess is it’s about the same. As I look at it, I’m forever grateful that my reality really isn’t God finality…I change flights; He commands Airspace.

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Deana Kennedy
Co-Pastor & Life Groups Director

What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about? That was the bumper sticker on the car in front of me in the Starbucks drive-thru. After a 4 month, doctor ordered fast from coffee (+ gluten, sugar/all sweeteners, seafood, grains, nuts/seeds, dairy, eggs, soy & beans), I was pretty excited to be edging closer to my prize. Perhaps the caffeine jolt with a double shot of anticipation is what sealed that question in my mind, but I haven’t been able to shake it…what if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about?

So I did what I do best, googled it: the song is thought to have been written by a British bandleader in 1940 during the Blitz of London (c. WWII) at the suggestion of a Canadian Officer as a party song to relieve the unrelenting stress of war. Before the invention of cones, ice-­cream was sold wrapped in waxed paper known as a hokey pokey (perhaps a deviation of the Italian ecco un poco…’here’s a little’). Vendors could be heard singing, ‘holey pokey, penny a lump; have a lick, make your jump’; ice-­cream, music and motion tend to make the whole world seem better.

I cannot fathom 57 consecutive nights of the methodical hum of aircraft and earthmoving explosions that destroyed lives and home. Nor, the sight of my comrades’ fallen bodies in rice paddies and jungles, the scorched stench of NY City after the Towers, the smothering heat of the Afghan desert, the riveting sounds of shots fired during a midnight movie, a knock on my door by uniformed officers. I simply know that humans, apart from God, are capable of unleashing evil that can only be demonic in nature. And the seat of that demonization lies even within me; “My greatest enemy isn’t satan or the world, it’s my own flesh”, Pastor Greg.

As we’ve worked our way through the series, Act of Worship, several things have made my notepad: Paul’s favorite word for praise was rejoice, praise is a natural expression of love and joy, worship isn’t’ a theology, it’s from the heart, praise wins battles, confuses the enemy, my own flesh will neutralize my faith and foil my praise, my flesh hates God, is contrary to the ways of God and allows no compromise, praise changes me and defeats my flesh, you can’t praise and nurse your flesh at the same time, something’s gotta give.

And the way to overcome my flesh is to make a willful decision to turn my gaze from what I’ve been dwelling on and look for the things He’s done; praise turns my eyes away from my weakness and on to His strength. Acts 17:28 for in Him we live and move and have our being. Though it often feels unnatural, uncomfortable, even rehearsed, sometimes I simply have to …put my right foot in…so what if the Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about?

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Deana Kennedy
Co-Pastor & Life Groups Director