She Who Laughs, Lasts!: Laugh-Out-Loud Stories from Today's Best-Known Women of Faith [NOOK Book]

Overview

The best of the best—stories, one-liners, and jokes from some of today’s funniest Christian speakers and best-selling writers This new book, like its best-selling predecessors, is packed with the kind of smiles and smirks, chuckles and giggles that thousands of readers have come to love and expect. It includes some of the funniest stories from today’s Christian writers like Barbara Johnson, John Ortberg, Mark Buchanan, Patsy Clairmont, Becky Freeman, Chonda Pierce, and more. Whether the topic is kids, marriage, ...
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She Who Laughs, Lasts!: Laugh-Out-Loud Stories from Today's Best-Known Women of Faith

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Overview

The best of the best—stories, one-liners, and jokes from some of today’s funniest Christian speakers and best-selling writers This new book, like its best-selling predecessors, is packed with the kind of smiles and smirks, chuckles and giggles that thousands of readers have come to love and expect. It includes some of the funniest stories from today’s Christian writers like Barbara Johnson, John Ortberg, Mark Buchanan, Patsy Clairmont, Becky Freeman, Chonda Pierce, and more. Whether the topic is kids, marriage, pets, church, parenting, aging, or life’s most embarrassing moments, the writers will help you keep life in perspective by revealing their own foibles, follies, and failings. Realizing that laughter and faith can go hand in hand, they offer real-life anecdotes that will keep your world in balance even—and especially—when life gets tough.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Spangler regards humor as "a gift God has given us to enable us to respond to life creatively." To this end, she includes humorous "women only" stories from well-known evangelical speakers and writers, such as Luci Swindoll, Becky Freeman, Barbara Johnson and Thelma Wells. Drawing from their own experiences of motherhood, marriage, friendship and aging, these women invite an easy solidarity; Patsy Clairmont tells of walking down the street feeling very fashionable, only to discover a pair of pantyhose trailing behind, while Barbara Johnson informs women that the best way to prepare for a mammogram is to smash their breasts thrice daily between a pair of frozen metal bookends. Most of the vignettes have no spiritual message whatsoever (Liz Curtis Higgs's essays on home decorating and bra-shopping in junior high are funny but not up to her usual spiritual standards). Some contributors try to use the humor as a theological jumping-off place: Thelma Wells describes a Ruth-and-Naomi friendship with a woman who refused to abandon her during a Nashville tornado. Most of the stories elicit a chuckle or two, though very few are fall-on-one's-face hilarious (an exception is Chondra Pierce's description of how she deals with telemarketers at suppertime). This inoffensive, benign book will entertain readers without challenging them spiritually. (Jan.) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780310860303
  • Publisher: Zondervan
  • Publication date: 12/15/2009
  • Sold by: Zondervan Publishing
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 240
  • Sales rank: 608,597
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

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 The One Year Devotions for Women. She is also coauthor of Women of the Bible and Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus and the general editor of the Names of God Bible. Ann’s fascination with and love of Scripture have resulted in books that have opened the Bible to a wide range of readers. She and her two daughters live in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Website: http://www.annspangler.com/

Blog: http://www.annspangler.com/category/blog/

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Read an Excerpt

In the Pink

Liz Curtis Higgs

It's not that I don't adore home decorating. That love affair began at the dawn of puberty when I turned twelve and my two older sisters had vacated our big bedroom. Mother decided I was old enough to choose a new decorating scheme myself. Did I do a safe pale blue, a feminine pink, a slightly daring lavender? No, I went for a Mother Nature look: navy blue walls (think sky) with bright yellow floral wallpaper on the ceiling (sun), brown painted floors (dirt) with green throw rugs (grass, of course). And to think Earth Day hadn't even happened yet. I was ahead of my time. Way ahead of my time.

Mother, being a gardener, thought it was dandy. She even helped me antique the desk and bookshelf -- remember that look? We used yellow paint for the base color then brushed on dark blue stain and wiped half of it off. It looked as bad as it sounds: green and yellow striped furniture. My friends made gagging sounds when they walked in the room.

I've traveled the interior design highway many times since then. My first apartment furniture consisted of one metal pole shelf earned with S&H Green Stamps and a dreadful plaid sofa bed bought with a credit card. Next came the early seventies hippie look with oversized floor pillows in earthtone colors: tans, browns, and rust. (Did we really decorate with olive and orange?) When it came to decorating, I found my best bet was paint. It was inexpensive, came in a zillion colors, and required no sewing, stuffing, or hauling. There wasn't any shade I wasn't willing to try: dark green, paper bag brown, turquoise, even feldspar.

Feldspar? The dictionary will tell you it's something found in igneous rocks, but I'm telling you this is not a color found in nature. Picture the deepest, brightest coral imaginable, then multiply it by ten. That's feldspar: a color one should use in very small doses, which is why it seemed the perfect choice for my tiny six-by-seven-foot laundry room.

Never one to rush such projects, I waited until the night before the delivery men would arrive with my new washer and dryer to start painting. How long could one little room take? Anyway, the hardware store insisted it would cover in one coat. I popped open the can and gasped. Feldspar my foot, this was flamingo pink! With trepidation, I poured it into the paint tray and was soon rolling it onto the walls.

Flat and vertical, the color was more coral than pink, and I sighed with relief as I rolled and trimmed, rolled and trimmed. By 1: 30 a.m., I had finished three walls and was pleased with the progress, except for one minor point: it was going to take two full coats to cover the old paint. Filling up the paint tray for the last wall, my tired arms stretched the tray up onto the shelf that perched on the side of the ladder.

Maybe it was the late hour, the lack of sleep, or too many paint fumes, but my next move was a terrible one: I moved the ladder. The forgotten paint tray, filled with a quarter of a gallon of bright pink latex, came raining down on my horrified head. If my mouth had been hanging open as usual, I might have drowned. Instead, the metal paint tray landed right on my chest, cascaded paint down the front of my T-shirt and jeans, and landed with a clang at my feet.

Now, the good news: for the first time in my natural life, I had used a drop cloth. On previous painting expeditions, I'd taken one page of newspaper and scooted it around the room with my foot, painting as I went. But because this laundry had a nice hardwood floor, I had wisely covered it with a vinyl drop cloth, a fact that at that moment gave me great solace. It could have been worse.

Had I been a married woman then, I would've called out, "Honey!" and some kind man would've come to my rescue. But I was a single woman when I bought that house, and the only other creature under my roof was my large cat, now perched on the laundry doorstep, looking mighty curious.

I know what most of us would've done: we would've stopped right then and there and gotten ourselves all cleaned up before continuing. But I was not about to waste all that paint, and anyway I had a job to finish. So, I stepped up to the fourth wall and smeared myself all over it, trying to make use of every drop of feldspar on my body. By this point, the clothes were a write-off, so I wiggled out of them, turned them inside out and dropped them in the trash can. (I know what you're thinking: does she always do her decorating projects in the buff? No, but when you live alone, you can get away with a lot!)

It was now 2:00 a.m., the first coat was complete and would have to dry for two hours before the second coat could be applied. Certainly at this point a sane woman would have taken a moment to jump in the shower and wash off all that pink paint, but it seemed so pointless. In two hours, I'd be back into the mess all over again, I reasoned, so I simply pulled back the comforter on my bed, pulled back the sheets, pulled back the mattress pad, and positioned myself on top of the mattress. The paint had only landed on my front half, remember, and it was completely dry by now, to boot.

I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m. and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Two hours later, I woke up on the first ring, rolled and trimmed with feldspar abandon, then showered and dressed for the day and was drinking coffee at 8:00 a.m. when the delivery men showed up at my door, appliances in tow. Despite my late-night latex disaster, I was going to have a lovely laundry after all.

But later that morning, driving to work, a terrible thought came to mind: what if I had died in my sleep? After all when you're single, weeks can go by before anyone notices you're not around. I could imagine my coworkers finally beginning to ask, "Has anyone seen Liz this month?" until at last the police would break into my house and find a stiff, half-naked pink woman with a starving cat perched at the foot of her bed. Gives me the willies to think about it. Ever since then, my color choices have been more subdued, a favorite being Heirloom Beige, which matches my aging skin perfectly.

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Table of Contents

Contents Acknowledgments Preface Chapter One: ’Tis More Blessed to Laugh Than to Frown A Laugh a Day Puts Wrinkles in the Right Places by Liz Curtis Higgs A Mouthful of Laughter by Barbara Johnson Chapter Two: Welcome to Womanhood Cross My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs Techno-Wonders of the Modern Age by Sue Buchanan The Mammogram by Barbara Johnson The Infamous Bra by Thelma Wells I Was a Victim of Tsk-Tsk-ers by Sue Buchanan Chapter Three: Did I Do That? Lookin’ Good by Patsy Clairmont In the Pink by Liz Curtis Higgs Overcoming with Worms by Becky Freeman Keep on Ticking by Bodie Thoene Night Life by Patsy Clairmont Chapter Four: Men and Marriage --- What Could Be Funnier? Hanky Panky by Charlene Ann Baumbich Aphrodisiacs by Betty Smartt Carter Part Man, Part Barca-Lounger by Sue Buchanan Finished Yet? by Sheila Walsh ’Twas the Night before New Year’s by Nancy Kennedy Sweet Spirit by Karen M. Feaver Someone to Watch Over Me by Janell Wheeler Romantically Impaired by Nancy Kennedy Miracle on Second Street by Charlene Ann Baumbich What a Guy! by Marilyn Meberg In Silliness and in Health by Liz Curtis Higgs Stop the Treadmill, I Gotta Get Off by Charlene Ann Baumbich The Bathroom That Ate Our Budget by Nancy Kennedy Chapter Five: Just for Grins Just Call Me Luci by Luci Swindoll Was That a Sneeze? by Hope Mihalap A Hearty Ha, Ha, Ha! by Barbara Johnson Telemarketers and Other Suppertime Annoyances by Chonda Pierce Off in La-La Land by Barbara Johnson Perfect Pitch? by Hope Mihalap I Know God Is Not a Grump Like Me by Cynthia Yates Chapter Six: I Am Mommy, Hear Me Roar! Teetering on the Verge of Wild Womandom by Becky Freeman “Snap Out of It!” by Sue Buchanan Bad Mommy by Marti Attoun How to Obtain a Loan Using Your Children as Collateral by Kathy Peel Gung Ho! by Marti Attoun Private Parts by Karen Scalf Linamen Flex Time by Marti Attoun Suit Yourself by Candace Walters Chapter Seven: Every Kid Has a Funny Bone From the Mouths of Babes by various authors Worms in My Tea by Becky Freeman Perfect Little Ladies? by Ann Spangler How Will I Find You When I Get to Heaven? by Ellie Lofaro Pacified by Marilyn Meberg Scorched by Nancy Coey Who’s the Boss? by Carol Kent The Art of Potty Training by Kathy Peel Body Snatchers by Karen M. Leet Chapter Eight: Laughter: The Glue That Holds Friendships Together Friendship Bread by Liz Curtis Higgs Stormy Weather by Thelma Wells Shades of Lucy and Ethel by Luci Swindoll Wax Buildup, Anthropology, and Starched Pillowcases by Sue Buchanan Chapter Nine: Chortles from Church “Ssshhh! You’re in Church!” by various authors Praise Ye the Lord! by Patsy Clairmont Your Chickens Will Come Home to Roost by Susan Duke Antics by Marilyn Meberg Chapter Ten: My Mother, My Self --- Eeek! What Time Is It When the Chickadee Chicks? by Chonda Pierce Mrs. Malaprop by Ann Spangler Hair Today . . . Gone Tomorrow by Sheila Walsh Find It at Your Local Bookstore by Chonda Pierce Tolerance by Cathy Lechner Chapter Eleven: What’s Life without a Few Wrinkles? Mighty Short! Midlife Bliss by Becky Freeman Keep Your Tweezers to Yourself! by Gracie Malone Love Those Wrinkles! by Liz Curtis Higgs Prayer in Old Age by a Seventeenth-Century Nun Chapter Twelve: We Need a Little Christmas Cheer Ho, Ho, No! by Nancy Kennedy Picture Perfect by Marti Attoun This Little Piggy Went to Day Care by Connie Breedlove I Love Cats! by Elisa Morgan All I Want for Christmas by Charlene Ann Baumbich Notes
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First Chapter

In the Pink
Liz Curtis Higgs
It's not that I don't adore home decorating. That love affair began at the dawn of puberty when I turned twelve and my two older sisters had vacated our big bedroom. Mother decided I was old enough to choose a new decorating scheme myself. Did I do a safe pale blue, a feminine pink, a slightly daring lavender? No, I went for a Mother Nature look: navy blue walls (think sky) with bright yellow floral wallpaper on the ceiling (sun), brown painted floors (dirt) with green throw rugs (grass, of course). And to think Earth Day hadn't even happened yet. I was ahead of my time. Way ahead of my time.
Mother, being a gardener, thought it was dandy. She even helped me antique the desk and bookshelf --- remember that look? We used yellow paint for the base color then brushed on dark blue stain and wiped half of it off. It looked as bad as it sounds: green and yellow striped furniture. My friends made gagging sounds when they walked in the room.
I've traveled the interior design highway many times since then. My first apartment furniture consisted of one metal pole shelf earned with S&H Green Stamps and a dreadful plaid sofa bed bought with a credit card. Next came the early seventies hippie look with oversized floor pillows in earthtone colors: tans, browns, and rust. (Did we really decorate with olive and orange?) When it came to decorating, I found my best bet was paint. It was inexpensive, came in a zillion colors, and required no sewing, stuffing, or hauling. There wasn't any shade I wasn't willing to try: dark green, paper bag brown, turquoise, even feldspar.
Feldspar? The dictionary will tell you it's something found in igneous rocks, but I'm telling you this is not a color found in nature. Picture the deepest, brightest coral imaginable, then multiply it by ten. That's feldspar: a color one should use in very small doses, which is why it seemed the perfect choice for my tiny six-by-seven-foot laundry room.
Never one to rush such projects, I waited until the night before the delivery men would arrive with my new washer and dryer to start painting. How long could one little room take? Anyway, the hardware store insisted it would cover in one coat. I popped open the can and gasped. Feldspar my foot, this was flamingo pink! With trepidation, I poured it into the paint tray and was soon rolling it onto the walls.
Flat and vertical, the color was more coral than pink, and I sighed with relief as I rolled and trimmed, rolled and trimmed. By 1:30 a.m., I had finished three walls and was pleased with the progress, except for one minor point: it was going to take two full coats to cover the old paint. Filling up the paint tray for the last wall, my tired arms stretched the tray up onto the shelf that perched on the side of the ladder.
Maybe it was the late hour, the lack of sleep, or too many paint fumes, but my next move was a terrible one: I moved the ladder. The forgotten paint tray, filled with a quarter of a gallon of bright pink latex, came raining down on my horrified head. If my mouth had been hanging open as usual, I might have drowned. Instead, the metal paint tray landed right on my chest, cascaded paint down the front of my T-shirt and jeans, and landed with a clang at my feet.
Now, the good news: for the first time in my natural life, I had used a drop cloth. On previous painting expeditions, I'd taken one page of newspaper and scooted it around the room with my foot, painting as I went. But because this laundry had a nice hardwood floor, I had wisely covered it with a vinyl drop cloth, a fact that at that moment gave me great solace. It could have been worse.
Had I been a married woman then, I would've called out, 'Honey!' and some kind man would've come to my rescue. But I was a single woman when I bought that house, and the only other creature under my roof was my large cat, now perched on the laundry doorstep, looking mighty curious.
I know what most of us would've done: we would've stopped right then and there and gotten ourselves all cleaned up before continuing. But I was not about to waste all that paint, and anyway I had a job to finish. So, I stepped up to the fourth wall and smeared myself all over it, trying to make use of every drop of feldspar on my body. By this point, the clothes were a write-off, so I wiggled out of them, turned them inside out and dropped them in the trash can. (I know what you're thinking: does she always do her decorating projects in the buff? No, but when you live alone, you can get away with a lot!)
It was now 2:00 a.m., the first coat was complete and would have to dry for two hours before the second coat could be applied. Certainly at this point a sane woman would have taken a moment to jump in the shower and wash off all that pink paint, but it seemed so pointless. In two hours, I'd be back into the mess all over again, I reasoned, so I simply pulled back the comforter on my bed, pulled back the sheets, pulled back the mattress pad, and positioned myself on top of the mattress. The paint had only landed on my front half, remember, and it was completely dry by now, to boot.
I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m. and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Two hours later, I woke up on the first ring, rolled and trimmed with feldspar abandon, then showered and dressed for the day and was drinking coffee at 8:00 a.m. when the delivery men showed up at my door, appliances in tow. Despite my late-night latex disaster, I was going to have a lovely laundry after all.
But later that morning, driving to work, a terrible thought came to mind: what if I had died in my sleep? After all when you're single, weeks can go by before anyone notices you're not around. I could imagine my coworkers finally beginning to ask, 'Has anyone seen Liz this month?' until at last the police would break into my house and find a stiff, half-naked pink woman with a starving cat perched at the foot of her bed. Gives me the willies to think about it. Ever since then, my color choices have been more subdued, a favorite being Heirloom Beige, which matches my aging skin perfectly.
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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 14, 2005

    Enjoyable

    It's a good book that you can pick up and put down when you want something light-hearted to read. Each story is 1-3 pages long. Some are about faith while others are just stories of a girl getting her first training bra. As a mother of two small children, I really like how this book is not something I have to sit down and read at length or pay close attention to understand. I recommend this to anyone who wants to make her day feel alittle happier and look at the brighter side of life.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 27, 2012

    No text was provided for this review.

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