My husband and I were just marveling over how far we've come by the unfailing love of God. Years ago we were both a couple of hot-heads. Plaster of Paris was a staple in our home (the white powder you mix with water to produce the plaster necessary to patch holes in walls).

I laughed earlier today when Michael described the gun he wants to buy me for Christmas. "You want to buy me a gun? I bet ten years ago you wouldn't have made an offer like that! If I had owned a gun back then, I most likely would have shot you with it, but I would have been REALLY sorry about it the next day." He smiled and said, "Ten years ago, there's no way I would have bought you a gun."

Look what God can do! Here we are, a couple of redeemed hot-heads, who now trust each other enough to have a hobby like this. If you are anti-gun, I do apologize. Truth is, I never wanted anything to do with them, but my husband and son enjoy going to the shooting range. So since I can't beat them, I'm joining them.

No jewelry under the Christmas tree for me this year. I'll be "packing" or rather unpacking a chocolate brown and raspberry Walther PK 380. I first saw the color in a Ruger LCP add.

"Arms Makers For Responsible Citizens"

Responsible Citizens . . . that is the power of a miracle working God.

Isaiah 17:7-8 and a half:
"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, which spreads out its roots by the river, and will not fear when heat comes . . ." Get it? Heat.

That's my silly gratitude for the day! There's a Scripture for everything!

My two oldest sons are from a previous marriage (their father was my high school Algebra teacher). He didn't think much of me after the divorce and took great delight in upsetting me with rude comments. For years I fell for it and lost my temper, until I discovered that the more calm and polite I remained the more it bothered him. I know, I know, it's not a pure motive to be kind but give me a break . . . from "glory to glory", right?

For two years I maintained politeness regardless of what he said to me. And then one day I blew it. I'll spare you the details of what he said to me, but confess to you that my parting phrase to him began with the letter F.

Now those without sin can cast the first stone.

My only regret was that I let him get the best of me. I still remember my prayer. "Dear God, please forgive me for what I said. And please forgive me for not really being sorry for what I said. Amen."

Who do I call for a quick shot of conviction? My friend, the pastor's wife. Surely she will set me straight. I imagined her gasp at my confession; a loving, but stern rebuke, accompanied by a reminder that godly women should maintain a graceful continence. Instead, I experienced a moment of silence, followed by giggling. "I'm sorry," she said. I know my laughter is highly inappropriate!"

I love this women. She knows me--knows that I don't normally use foul language. I'm human afterall. Not long afterward, I felt authentic conviction for my reaction. But with no condemnation.

Moving on.

Can you think of a time when God allowed inappropriate laughter to ease the pain of of losing your temper? Did authentic conviction arise?