Look Who's Laughing! - Softcover

Ann Spangler is an award-winning writer and the author of many bestselling books, including Praying the Names of God, Praying the Names of Jesus, and Women of the Bible (with Jean Syswerda). Her most recent books are The Tender Words of God and Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus (with Lois Tverberg.) She and her two daughters live in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Ann Spangler, autora con galardones en su haber cuya fascinacion con la Biblia ha producido libros que han introducido esta a una amplia gama de lectores, es la autora de varios libros que han sido exitos de ventas, incluyendo Praying the Names of God, Praying the Names of Jesus y Mujeres de la Biblia (de la que es co-autora Jean Syswerda). En conjunto, se han vendido mas de 2 millones de ejemplares de sus libros. Ha ocupado puestos ejecutivos importantes en dos casas editoras cristianas y en la actualidad reside con sus dos hijas en Grand Rapids, Michigan..

Look Who's Laughing! Copyright 2003 by Ann Spangler Requests for information should be addressed to: Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Look who's laughing! : rib-tickling stories of fun, faith, family, and friendship / compiled by Ann Spangler and Shari MacDonald. p. cm. ISBN-10: 0-310-24692-X ISBN-13: 978-0-310-24692-3 1. Religion --- Humor. 2. Conduct of life --- Humor. I. Spangler, Ann. II. MacDonald, Shari PN6231 .R4 L66 2003 818 '.60208 --- dc21 2002155410 All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version. NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means --- electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other --- except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Interior design by Michelle Espinoza Printed in the United States of America We want to hear from you. Please send your comments about this book to us in care of zreview@zondervan.com. Thank you. Man is the powder, woman the spark. --- Lope De Vega Women like silent men. They think they are listening. --- Marcel Achard Men Are Funny, Women Are Hilarious . . . Together We're Hysterical One Man's Treasure G. Ron Darbee I suppose I should have seen it coming, should have recognized the signs, picked up on the subtle hint. But after so many years of marriage, I really didn't want to believe it was true. Oh, she sent all the right signals, I guess. She even threatened a time or two. Maybe I loved her too much, trusted her too completely. When it finally happened --- when all that trust shattered and her veil of secrecy lifted --- there was no one left to blame but myself. I went to bed early, consistent with my usual routine, but rather than falling directly to sleep, I waited. Because of my morning commute, it's not unusual for me to retire before Sue, anyway. I didn't think she knew of my suspicions, but later she claimed she did. In a way, I think she wanted to be caught, to get it out in the open and end the sneaking around. About an hour later, Sue poked her head in the door, ensuring herself I was out for the night. I heard the fumbling of keys in her purse and the sound of the back door creaking before I rose and followed in pursuit. Stepping into the garage behind her, I caught her red-handed. 'Ah!' I said, in the manner of one who has just caught his spouse red-handed. 'So what do you have to say for yourself?' Sue spun around quickly, startled and caught off guard. Following her first impulse, she feigned surprise and pretended to gasp for breath, all the while attempting to hide something in the small of her back. I didn't fall for the clever ruse and demanded to see what she held behind her. 'It's nothing,' Sue said. 'Really . . . nothing.' Her face displayed only guilt, and shame shone through the facade of shock. 'Nothing, is it?' I said. 'We'll see about that. What have you got there? What are you hiding behind your back?' 'Don't make me show you,' she pleaded. 'Please, can we just go inside and forget about this? Pretend it never happened?' 'I don't think so, Sue. It's gone too far. I'll be seeing what you're hiding there now, if you please.' Slowly, cautiously, she pulled her hand around. I knew what to expect even before I saw it. 'Those are my baseball cards, aren't they?' I said, my heart nearly pounding through my chest. 'You've been cleaning out the garage again, haven't you?' 'Yes!' She said it defiantly, holding her head up high, ready to stand her ground. She had done it, yes, and she was glad. 'And you've been rummaging through my things?' I asked. 'I suppose you've thrown away some of my stuff?' 'Yes,' she answered, 'and I'd do it again if I had the chance. It's all junk. Somebody had to clear it out of here.' So there it was, a turning point, a roadblock in our marriage. We could take the easy way, like so many other couples we knew, or we could try to work it out. Our life together was too important to both of us; we had made a commitment, a lifelong commitment. 'We can work this out, sweetheart,' I said, in the spirit of reconciliation. 'Let me see it all. We'll do this thing together.' That was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Sue, like many women, doesn't know the first thing about memorabilia. She sees a box of baseball cards, an old ball glove --- and immediately heads toward the trash pile. And the whole time our house is cluttered with real junk: photographs, old letters, and hand-medowns disguised as family heirlooms. 'Show me what you've thrown away so far,' I said, wanting to minimize the losses. She pointed toward a trash can nearly overflowing with my possessions. 'Not my first ball glove!' I yelled as I extracted the crown of my earthly treasures. 'You couldn't have meant to throw away my baseball mitt.' 'It doesn't even fit you anymore,' Sue said. 'You couldn't possibly get your hand in there.' 'But it has Ron Swoboda's signature on the thumb, Sue! How could you do this?' 'I don't see a signature on it,' she said, squinting in the poor light of our garage. 'Well, it used to be on there,' I said. 'You can sort of make it out if you know what to look for.' I continued rummaging through the pile. 'Now wait just a minute. Do you know what this is?' I asked. 'Do you know what you've thrown away?' 'Old baseball cards,' Sue said. Accurate guess, but she obviously didn't get the whole picture. 'Not just old baseball cards, Sue. This is Mickey Mantle, 'Mick the Stick,' one of the greatest baseball players of all time. Do you know how much this is worth? I'll tell you. Several hundred dollars!' 'I apologize,' Sue said. 'I never would have thrown it away if I'd known how much it was worth. Can we sell it?' 'Sell it! This is my youth we're talking about, Sue. How much is my youth worth to you?' 'How much can we get?' she asked. Determining that we were getting nowhere following that course, I switched gears slightly and attempted to gain the upper hand. 'How much of your junk have you thrown away, sweetheart?' I asked. 'Over there by the shelves,' she pointed in the direction of the washing machine. 'A toilet brush that's seen better days, some slippers, and that cookbook your mother gave me.' I couldn't believe my ears. 'The cookbook my mother wrote with her own two hands?' I asked. 'You threw away Mom's Chronology of Darbee Cuisine? How could you?' 'It's not even a real cookbook, just a list of ingredients,' Sue argued. 'She didn't write down any amounts. What am I supposed to do --- guess?' 'Okay, fine,' I said. 'Why are we saving this then?' I picked up an old encyclopedia volume and thrust it in Sue's direction. 'Open the book, Sue, and you know what you'll find? Dead flowers. May I ask why we are saving dead flowers?' 'Those happen to be the first flowers you sent me,' Sue said, as though that revelation was supposed to make a difference. 'They're still dead, Sue,' I said. 'And, quite frankly, I don't understand. Mickey you toss away without a second thought, and a dozen carnations get immortalized between the pages of World Book.' 'Roses,' she corrected. 'They were roses, and I thought it was better to save them than expect new ones on occasion.' Immediately recognizing that this, too, was not a course I wanted to take, I changed directions one last time. 'Sounds like we compromise,' I said. 'I'll tell you what, I don't mind if you keep the dried flowers.