I once made the world’s worst casserole.
Oh, girl, I am not exaggerating! The recipe called for milk, but I ran out and used buttermilk instead. Bad idea.
But, my sweet family tried to be so mannerly and gracious as they swallowed each sour, sticky bite! After all, it was Christmas Eve and they were on their best holiday behavior.
When my son, Connor, was little, he had a new balloon which he insisted on taking outside.
“Connor,” I told him, “if we take the balloon out in the backyard it will probably pop.”
But he would not relent, so out we went.
He swept the brightly colored balloon up into the air, and it slowly glided downward. He caught it and repeated the motion several times.
I used to have a guide dog named William. And, one Sunday morning, after I’d had William for several months, we sat attentively in my Bible study group.
Well, at least … I sat attentively … kind of.
It was awfully hard because William’s attention was riveted by a grasshopper that had made its way into our room via an open door.
William was determined to catch that critter—even if he had to knock over a stack of Bibles and three Baptists in the process! He slapped his paws forward and jerked his head in pursuit.
Years ago, when Phil was finishing up his Ph.D., we had a little money, a little time, and a little boy. All in all, it was really a happy season of life—with one little exception.
Actually, it wasn’t so little.
I was overwhelmed with stress and couldn’t figure out how to manage it.
Ever felt like that?
I had carved out time in the middle of a busy week to travel 30 minutes downtown to apply for a passport.
After waiting in a long line, I turned in my application and photo only to hear a lethargic and impatient clerk ask, “Where’s your birth certificate? You can’t get a passport without a birth cert—”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get it. I’ll come back.”
My dad always told me that confession is good for the soul. Maybe … but it can also be very bad for the reputation. Even so, I’m risking my reputation with you by letting you in on a little secret.
Ready? Here goes.
I have an obsession … with the burners on my stove. I’m driven to keep them spotless and gleaming.
Now that I own a gas stove, this dysfunctional issue may not require therapy, but it wasn’t always this way. I once hovered over the burners on my electric range—the pans, rims, and surface beneath were all targets of my compulsion.
Now, before you put me on your prayer list, let me explain.