I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud while reading a book. Maybe because I mostly pick serious literature or something to study. I need to lighten up!
My husband, who reads only occasionally, bought a book _Praise Habit_ by David Crowder. My husband read it but failed to convince me how funny (and meaningful) it was. My children are wondering, "What is up with her today?" as they hear me laughing sitting on my bed reading.
Here's an excerpt from David's book:
"Last September there was an irregular tapping in my chest. A tapping on my breastplate from the inside. Not a gentle, constant drum but an erratic thud pouding at volatile intervals. The tapping would be slow and with the velocity of the index finger and then WHAM! a fist coming through. My wife took me to the ER. I am afraid of doctors. I am afraid of dentists. Anything medical. Anyone in white. Anyone with access to needles and the education to use them. I can't look at needles without feeling faint. I've never actually fainted, but I'm certain that this is that feeling. The kind lady in green hooks me up to wires. She studies the sheet of paper. She then asks me, "Are you on any kind of street drugs?"
"Are you on any street drugs?"
I laugh nervously, " Uh, I'm not sure what you mean, but I don't think so. What do you mean by 'street drugs'? Like driugs from the street like Tylenol? No, I'm not on street drugs, I'm certain. Yes, I 've thought about it, and no, I'm not on street drugs."
She doesn't believe me. (See author photo.) She says there will be tests and I should just tell her now. "
My husband and I really love David Crowder's music and have been to a show, so we know what he looks like. We agreed he would fit right in around here. His hair is in somewhat a wild fro, he wears black safety looking glasses, and has a nice snarly tuft of hair only at the end of his chin much like our goats.
I hold David Crowder personally responsible for the "guitar love" of our middle son. The jury is still out if I appreciate this love altogether. At the show, my son made his way up to center front just so he could stand and stare at David's hands, sweat glistening and rolling down his guitar as he played. Now I'm getting daily lectures on the differences between semi-hollow bodies and solid bodied guitars from a nine year old.
So, Mr. Crowder, thanks for music on headphones to get me through running my 5K's, opening a door for my son to find joy in strings, and for the laughs and epiphanies from your book.
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