See You in the Funny Papers

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The fingerprints of so many people are on the pages of this book.

Kathy Ide—Your patience and skill brought this manuscript together. Thanks for the brilliant editing.

Christy Busby and Les Minor—Your trust in allowing me to write for the Bowie County Life/Texarkana Gazette changed my life. Thanks for believing in this crazy, blonde gal.

Mike Shapiro and Andrew Grossman—I always wanted to be a cartoon. Thanks for the caricature on the cover. It’s me.

Ray—Thanks for the design work on my cover. You are the wind behind my sails. I know, I’m just a rowboat. But if I had sails, you’d keep me sailing for years. Thanks for loving me, and putting up with all my mishaps.

Marty and Brandon—You make this Mom proud. I love you.

Dad—Your fingerprints are on every page too. You were a fisher of men. I want to follow in your shoes. Thanks for being the best father ever. I know you’re looking down from heaven, and smiling.

Mom—Thank you for my twin sister. We were double trouble, and you had your hands full. I love you.

Melody—You are my best friend. You love me no matter what I do, what I say. You are a mirror of all I want to become. I love you.

To you, the reader —May you find joy unspeakable, and have fun living the Christian life.

And to you, our heavenly Father—Thank you for loving me. Take the words in this book, and bless them, so others may find Your love. That they may live with purpose and smile.

Chapter 1

Where Are the Missionaries?

Everyone knows that when you want God to use you and you pray for direction in your life, He will send you to Africa as a missionary. Well, God left me in East Texas, where I say y’all, eat fried chicken, and watch for deer at night when I drive along the highway.

My missionary work takes place in the Piney Woods of East Texas, where we have plenty of bugs, swamps, and critters. I don’t live by a river, swat mosquitoes, or sleep in a hut, but I do keep a look out for armadillos, skunks, and copperhead snakes.

While many extraordinary people go to faraway places where they eat bugs on purpose, God called this incredibly average, slightly scattered, blonde-haired woman with limited talent to Texas so she can write newspaper columns and features. He allows her to eat candy corn and live in air-conditioned comfort, and He has placed her in a job she loves so much it makes her cry.

Still, like the people God sends to the African bush, the person God calls to write stories for His glory is also a missionary. So yes, I am a missionary. Sweet little ole Southern gal me. Now, isn’t that hilarious?

Whenever I share a cup of coffee, talk or laugh with a friend, or write about the awesome things happening in the lives of other people, I am doing what I was created to do. And that makes me a missionary.

My weekly columns speak of life and promote laughter—at least that’s the idea. My goal is to point others to Christ, to keep Him in the news, and to inform people of how He is working in and around us each day.

My life is mostly ordinary. But I am continually amazed at how events unfold. I’m glad God is in the business of having fun and that we get to come along with Him.

My greatest treasures and blessings come from everyday moments with friends, family, and even strangers. I believe in kind words, hugs, smiles, and humanity.

I’ve met two kinds of people in this world: those who inspire and those who expire. Right now, I am still breathing. I’m guessing you are too. So come along with me. Good times are ahead. We have stories to share and memories to make.

Chapter 2

Stuck on the Highway of Life

On my way to a nearby town for a series of interviews for my column, my SUV started a shimmy dance, the engine coughing and gagging down the road. For the previous few weeks, it had jerked and sputtered. My husband said he believed I had purchased bad gasoline.

When I smelled burning rubber, my heart rate jumped. I actually feared a fire might take place beneath the hood of my old jalopy.

I dialed my hubby’s cell phone. No answer. Got his voice mail. He was in the city, twenty-five miles away. I left a message.

I called my older son’s cell phone. No answer. Left another voice mail.

I phoned my younger son’s cell phone. Voice mail again.

I called my sister’s cell phone. Dead air. Another message left.

No one called me back.

Where is my family when I need them?

I started thinking a new family might be in order. Or at least a new cell phone. Mine was old, and the connection often failed. If the service wasn’t connecting their calls to me, I couldn’t blame my family for not calling me back.

I drove up to the building for my first appointment, the engine puffing and sputtering. I gathered up my digital camera, purse, and the useless cell phone, in case the car went up in smoke while I was inside.

After the meeting, I crept along to my next appointment. My vehicle shook, rattled, and let out a series of strange sounds, keeping rhythm with the roar of the tires on the road. I had a set of drums playing beneath the hood of my car as I rocked into the parking space.

Once outside the car, I sniffed the hood. Noticing that the smell of burning rubber had subsided, I sighed with relief and took off to my next interview.

Two hours later, I returned to the parking lot and checked my phone. No missed calls. I phoned all those family members again, hoping to find someone to rescue me from having to drive home.

Not one answered. Each call sent me straight to voice mail.

I inched along Highway 82 in DeKalb, Texas. Each time I passed an eighteen-wheeler; I held my breath and prayed. I played out the worst-case scenarios in my mind, like that; my car would stop right in the middle of the highway in the path of fast-moving traffic.

The twenty-minute drive home felt like it took forever, and I hung on to the steering wheel with a death grip. I finally pulled into my driveway, edgy but alive. The engine gave one last cough and died.

I thanked God that I’d arrived home safe, but I wished at least one person had been home to feel sorry for me, to ease my anxious thoughts. What if my car had broken down on the road? Who would have saved me? Where were my deliverers? Missing in action and not answering my call, that’s where.

Isn’t that just like all of us? We want help, and we want it now, on our terms.

I have a Savior who is constantly calling me, wooing me to Himself. But I have to wonder, do most of His calls to me go unanswered? Do His calls go straight to my voice mail?

Oftentimes, when God wants to speak to us, He can’t find us. Oh, sure, we intend to get back to Him, but we get busy and forget. Fortunately, He never stops calling.

Listen. Can you hear that distinctive sound? It’s His ringtone, like the church bell ringing on Sunday morning at a nearby church. So hop in your car and go see Him. The Lord has plenty of anytime minutes just for you, and He will always answer your call.

If you’re stuck on the side of the road, He can calm your anxious heart and deliver you home safely. And a ride with Jesus comes without the smell of burning rubber.

Chapter 3

Content or Grumpy

Are you more like a dog or a cat? These two animals have different approaches to their lives. One is content with everything while the other is usually grumpy.

I have a miniature schnauzer named Macy. I also have a Siamese cat named Spice. Their attitudes are entirely different in how they react to their master’s commands.

Whatever she is doing, my dog acts as if it is her favorite activity. She lives for the moment, focusing only on whatever is in front of her at the time.

When I pour her dog food, she twirls around as if to say, My favorite! Give me more.

If she goes for a car ride, she sticks her ears into the wind, her favorite way to look out the window.

If we take a walk, she pulls and rushes ahead, her favorite way of making me hurry up.

Whenever I let her into the backyard, she runs as if she has never been on that lawn before. She sniffs the green grass as if she’s seeing it for the first time.

At the end of my workday, she meets me at the front door, jumps into my arms, licks my face, and loves me. I am her favorite person at that moment.

When I play hide-and-go-seek with her, she never tires. She will search for me forever. It’s her favorite game.

My bed is her all-time favorite place to stretch out.

Spice, on the other hand, tends to behave as if she is being held captive in the house. Even when I dangle toys on a string in front of her, she acts bored.

She turns up her pudgy brown nose when I give her dry food, acting as if she deserves fresh tuna instead.

My uppity little feline seems to get immense satisfaction from leaving cat hair on the sofa or scratching the furniture.

She weaves herself between my legs just to let me know she is in the room, because she thinks she is important. She wants me to think she doesn’t care, so she prances and hides, only to show up when I least expect it.

Do you approach life like Macy, taking on each activity that comes along as though it is your favorite? Or do you act aloof, like my cat, as if life is holding you captive?

At the sound of the alarm this morning, did you say, This is my favorite time of the day? Do you love your job? What about those chores? Traffic jams? Laundry? Shopping? Any favorites there?

Some of us act like my cat, grumpy and conniving, or demanding and aloof. We prance around and weave ourselves into other people’s lives, only to leave behind balls of hair.

If that’s how you tend to approach the day, take a lesson from my dog. Unleash happiness by taking a walk and enjoying your surroundings. Stick your head out the window, mess up your hair, and smile as your lips flop in the wind.

This is the day that the Lord has made, so rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24). Grumpy and aloof are not very engaging, so