Chanclas. The word that strikes fear and trembling into the hearts and limbs of children of all ages. My Anglo and multi-cultural friends may not recognize this weapon of sass destruction by name due to its Spanish heritage, but I can all but guarantee you’ll pay homage to its effectiveness as a disciplinary device used ...
I always feel a bit assaulted by the joy-sucking dully-funks while putting away the Christmas decorations and disrobing the poor naked tree, don’t you? Gone are the manger scene, colorful ornaments and illustrious reminders of this happy, happy season.
Cheerful carols heralding our Savior’s birth are replaced by the sound of the cat hocking up fur balls.
The aroma of freshly baked cookies is but a succulent memory as you crankily nibble a fistful of baby carrots.
The once festive house suddenly seems so dull. So blah. So deflated. And I find if I’m not careful, my spirit suffers the same letdown.
At first, I had no trouble staying right behind Mama’s blue car coat as I’d been warned repeatedly to do, but when we ventured near the toy department, I became irresistibly drawn by something I glimpsed a few aisles over. Whatever it was captivated me for what must have been 2-3 minutes, and then another amazing toy called my name yet further down the aisle, and then another.
By the time I looked up, Mama’s blue coat had been replaced by the jackets and sweaters of dozens of strangers, swarming the aisle like bees around a honey log.
Based on common banking principles, I’m proposing that Heaven institute a calorie bank in which everyone would have their own account.
Yep – a calorie account to count calories.
A fat deposit box, if you will.
Hip hip hooray!!! My new 365-day devotional, Too Blessed to be Stressed: Inspiration for Every Day has just officially released and I’m in the mood to celebrate! Won’t you celebrate with me?
Our enthusiasm far exceeded our talent. Yup, we were lousy. But it was okay. Our goal was not to accomplish any life-changing purpose; it was simply to enjoy a carefree starlit night, wear silly clothes, and express our joy about the birth of a Savior in a manger.
But Papa God had a different purpose in mind.
Okay, a little soul confession here: you probably didn’t know this, but every time I finish a book, I’m sure it’s my last. Not of my own choosing – no way – but because the book publishing biz is fickle and unpredictable, and there are no guarantees another book will ever be contracted. Ever.
Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat as I swerved to miss a body lying half on the sidewalk, half in the road. I passed the prone man and slowed, finally pulling over to the side of the road at the bottom of the bridge, battling within myself whether to get out or keep going.
This was before cell phones, mind you, so there was no way to call for help within the safe, warm comfort of my car. I had to make a get-your-hands-dirty – or not – decision on the spot. I’ll admit I didn’t want to stop. I was bone tired and gnawingly hungry. And I was wearing my brand new lacy white Christmas blouse; I sure didn’t want to mess it up.
We all want to put our prettiest toenails forward when capturing memories that’ll be hauled out again and again during future Christmas and New Year’s gatherings, right? But we’ve also experienced those horrified gag moments when we want to hurl our partially digested gingerbread cookies at hideous photos of ourselves. Who wants to be mistaken ...
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the everyday blessings we enjoy: health, family, home, old friends, Cadbury milk chocolate bars with almonds … You know, I’d just like to saver this lovely tranquility – this peaceful contentment, this quiet pre-Christmas-madness moment – a little longer. Before the stress begins. Ahhh. Okay. It’s over. Here ...