It’s a Mad Mad World…

…but our anger only makes it worse.

 

I sat down to write this blog post, having set my alarm for 5:35 and brewed a nice strong cup of Folgers Black Silk.

I sat down to write and then “briefly” checked the news on Facebook.

That, my friends, was the first mistake.

First I scanned the headlines about the police shootings in Dallas. Then I clicked on a random link about an attempted child abduction in California, which automatically went to other videos on a similar theme. I watched, transfixed and horrified, until I felt a familiar inner prompting…

“Stop. Just stop.”

At that point, I took a step back from what I was doing. This was not how I’d planned to spend my morning. I’d frittered away half my writing time; I’d let the Internet steal my self-control.

Yes, the events of this past week are horrible, but I can’t change that the shootings happened. This is what I have to repeat—again and again and yet again. I can’t change the terrible things that are happening.

What can I do to make things better?

I can pray.

I can love.

* * *

On that note, check out this grad party hottie of mine.

But please, do not tell him I called him a hottie. I embarrassed him enough in the latest issue of Family Foundations, where I am billed as “A Happy Housewife” because (I freely admit this) I enjoy sex.

AWKWARD, right?

Yet, so beautiful in the eyes of God.

Our “Bonus” Baby, aka Francis

 

Yes, that’s a 49-year-old momma in that photo holding one very BUSY 3-year-old. Our God is good but He’s a prankster! He send us one last little one (an assumption, mind you) when we were both unemployed and uninsured.

(Those two seem to go hand-in-hand, don’t they?)

Love will win out in the end, no matter the crosses that come our way. I know you know crosses! We do, too, and yet God’s been providing throughout it all. Francis fills my days with the sweetest sorts of consolation, from his “I love you too, Momma” to his thanking me earnestly for buying “Hotella.”

Please don’t tell him it’s really Nutella.

And that juicy nectarine on his plate? That’s really a “macarene,” thank you very much, and I hope he hangs onto that term until he’s at least 18.

‘Cause those 18-year-olds?

 

They’re a whole ‘nother problem. 😉

Happy weekend, everyone! And I do mean that: have a happy weekend, and stay as close as possible to the ones you love. THEY’RE how we make the biggest difference, one smile…one embrace…one full-up heart at a time.