Father, thank You for a church who can turn a business meeting into a warm, loving family affair. Though, OMG, two tables of desserts probably sweetened things.
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Sacred Communion
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Tag Archives: Love
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Crazy Love
O Lord, You recall that when we got married, Steve was a freshman medical student. I didn’t have a job. We hadn’t seen each other in five months. Father, You could have had us committed. (Our parents thought about it.)
Instead, OMG, You have walked with us, every step, for 48 years. Thank You that our crazy love grows crazier — and better — every year.
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Before and After
O Lord, when will we learn not to procrastinate?! This year, our Christmas tree is a Charlie Brown special. I even named it “Charlie”! But once decorated with loving hands, Charlie shines. OMG, how thankful we are that when no one chooses us, You do — and Jesus can make us spindly, crooked souls more beautiful than can be imagined.
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Did This Really Start with Only Two People?
O Lord, so thankful for a fabulous time in Indiana’s Brown County State Park with the entire Phillips clan. But OMG, if we grow any more, the next time, we might break the bridge!
Easter Feet
As a child, I loved new Easter shoes.
Well, new to me. My friend’s outgrown Mary Janes boasted slightly taller-than-average French heels.
My mother distrusted anything French except toast. “You’re too young for those!”
How could I wear winter-worn oxfords with my “new” dress?
Mom gave in. Eventually, she allowed glorious, pinchy-toe, high heels that made me walk like a camel.
St. Augustine probably passed on French heels, but when he abandoned his sensual, doubt-ridden life and was baptized, he donned special Easter shoes. Shoes that symbolized he would walk in the steps of Christ.
I walked in Jesus’ steps, too, in Galilee. Down to the Dead Sea. Up the Mount of Olives. Down to the Garden of Gethsemane.
That Man walked and walked!
Jesus didn’t wear Dr. Scholl’s® sandals as he traveled mountainous, unpaved roads through Scorpion City. He needed no Fitbit to calculate travel’s toll on His tired, bruised, filthy feet.
One woman poured thousand-dollar-per-ounce perfume on those feet and dried them with her hair.
Did Jesus’ disciples go overboard, too? Hardly. Instead, He pushed aside supper to wash their dirty feet — all 24, including Judas’.
Soon, His own were nailed to a cross as if they had no nerves. When Jesus appeared after His Resurrection, he showed the disciples His hands and feet, printed forever with His love for them.
His love for saints like Augustine.
For the child who in her Easter shoes glimpsed His gift of newness of life. For that child now turned Dr. Scholl’s® queen.
To all, Jesus shows His beautiful feet.
Easter feet.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Did you know Jesus loves you, too?
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer
O Lord, another spectacular sunrise! Amid glorious sherbet-colored clouds, the butter-cake sun shines through dark-chocolate trees … um, sorry, Jesus, dieting is getting to me. But viewing Your generous artistry day after day — OMG, where do we funny little people get off, thinking You aren’t Love?
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: from Love to Love
O Lord, don’t You think going directly from Christmas decorations to Valentine’s Day hearts makes sense? After all, both holidays are rooted in Your love. (And, OMG, maybe You could help Hubby take the hint about chocolates?)
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Old People Still in Love? Seriously?
O Lord, You know that when this first pic was taken, I thought people who were 47 years old were ancient. Antediluvian, actually. OMG, how could I have known how rich 47 years of married love — built on Your love — could be?
For My True Love
Have you spent endless hours seeking Christmas gifts for your Numero Uno?
We search stores. Dig through photos, files, and websites for unique gifts that say, “I love you.” Right, guys?
We’re all inspired by “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Mr. True Love went all out to find his sweetheart’s presents. Five gold rings notwithstanding, though, romantic zeal doesn’t always translate to gift-giving know-how.
Our first Christmas together, my true love gave me gloves. Hairy-looking, mottled red and gray gloves, the like of which I had not seen before, nor have since. Later, I learned his mother, terrified her 17-year-old was hurrying into something serious, had suggested a pair.
He should have asked her help.
My future husband’s gift-giving impairment didn’t surprise me, though, because my father was the world’s worst. The oh-is-something-happening-tomorrow? thought never occurred to him before Christmas Eve. Second, penny-pinching Dad comprehended zero about Mom’s preferences.
Around age 10, I noticed their annual conflict.
Dad bought Mom a blue eyelet dress, perfect for running through daisies.
“Pretty!” I cheered. “Like the ones the eighth graders wear!”
Mom grated, “I’m not in eighth grade.”
True. Most eighth graders didn’t have five children. And even I saw the dress was four sizes too small.
The following year, Dad bought her a practical gift. A slip the size of your average city bus.
After 25 years of bombing, he finally welcomed his daughters’ help in choosing Mom’s Christmas gift.
My husband learned much faster. Now he’s so good, he should teach gift-giving lessons. Hubby could have helped the guy who teased his girlfriend one holiday season, insisting he’d give her an iron.
She responded with cute giggles.
He purchased a super-cheap iron, gave it away, and packaged a romantic gift in the box.
She unwrapped it. No cute giggles.
He spent the rest of Christmas trying to persuade her to: Open. The. Box.
If it’s the thought that counts, a traveling salesman’s wife blew that aspect. She gave him a week’s supply of socks, all dotted with her portrait.
Having dissed all these givers, I tried to be fair, asking Hubby, “What Christmas gift for you did I blow?”
He shrugged. “None I remember.”
None? Our relationship has spanned almost five decades.
I threw my arms around him. “You’re so forgiving!”
“Forgetful’s probably the word.”
“At our age, same difference.” I hugged him again.
During the holidays, I often lie awake. Did I buy the teens’ gift cards from stores that will ruin their reputations for life? Are the in-laws allergic to blue? Do little ones’ toys contain kryptonite?
Hubby’s forgiving/forgetting my Christmas miscues is the best present he could give me.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s the best/worst gift your spouse has given you?
OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Not Everyone’s Martha Stewart
Lord, amazing that I not only have chosen most of our gifts, but Hubby and I are wrapping them. His packages, with their economic use of paper and perfect creases, could grace a Christmas photo layout. Mine, however, always look bumpy and lumpy. OMG, it is the thought that counts, right? Even if the love looks lopsided?
