O my God, thank You for an amazing weekend — teaching eager students at the Taylor Professional Writing Conference, celebrating with writing buds, fueling our inspiration with Mexican food and sundaes!
But now, Lord, it’s Monday morning. OMG, maybe I should … write?
O my God, You know that as a child, I considered sewing myself a dress of Queen Anne’s lace — so delicate, so royal. I didn’t know the plant also was called “chigger weed.” OMG, thank You I didn’t learn the hard way that creative ideas aren’t necessarily good ideas.
O my God, my purse collection in the closet bombed Hubby again. Enough, he said. No more sales, he said. He’s right, Lord. With Your help, I’ll design my heavenly purse, full of charity, that no thief can steal. It will never wear out. And OMG, thank You that it will go with everything!
O my God, You know that as a kid, I got fed up with my life. I threatened to join the circus — but Mom refused to drive me. Now I realize that with my lack of talent, I’d still be head shoveler for the elephants. OMG, thank You that Mom said no.
O my God, You know I hate telemarketer pitches about the joys of Medicare supplements or trips I’ve won to Bongo Bongo. I answered the latest “How are you, ma’am?” with an icy “I’m busy.” She hung up on me! But OMG, maybe now I know how telemarketers feel?
O my God, gardeners often expel these wild-child lilies in favor of civilized ones. Even now, gangs of these gaudy, orange lilies are trying to turn my yard into a pasture. But Jesus, You loved the lilies of the field. OMG, would that be such a bad thing?
Dad clowns with his 98-year-old sister and his niece.
O my God, You are the powerful Lord of the universe. Yet, OMG, You also are the Lord of laughter! Thank You for my 90-year-old earthly father who, with every phone call, every visit, never lets me–or anyone else–forget that.
O my God, when I encounter a construction zone, I often want to swear at other drivers. But You said to pray for my enemies. O-kay. OMG, please watch over these idiots — er, stray sheep — and everyone in their path.
O my God, thank You for my grandchildren, a sevenfold blessing I could never have imagined. Once, though, I told them I remember when the U.S. flag included only 48 stars — and OMG, one grandson asked if I knew Betsy Ross.