After I posted my last blog update, I immediately got a comment on Facebook that my boys needed to come home and give poor Brad a break. Now that cracked me up. Trust me when I tell you that when the boys come home, Brad has triple trouble on his hands! The boys are far more merciless than I am. And, while they are very funny, most of the time they don’t hold a candle to Brad.

Case in point: This past Thursday night. Brad did it again.

No, he did not cook me breakfast for supper. He did another funny.

We met for dinner at On The Border before I went to go get beautiful (that’s what I call it when I go get my hair done.) Now you would think that the subject of my hair would provide Brad with ample ammunition to get me back for my blog post about his poor math. After all, my hair has been many, many different colors. I once dyed my hair three different times… in one day. It’s a miracle I still have hair.

Side note here. One of my big fears is what’s going to happen when I die. Not because I’m worried about what my hair will look like in the casket. I’ve already threatened to haunt Brad and my boys for the rest of their lives if they leave my casket open and let people gawk at me when I’m dead. No sir. NOT HAVING IT! I do not understand why people say this, “Oh, she looks so good.” Seriously. I have yet to see someone who looks good in a casket. What I’m worried about is those memory slideshows that people have started doing at funerals. You know…the ones where they show all those pictures of the person who died. I’m convinced mine will leave people confused and probably thinking I was a schizophrenic. In any given year, my hair is likely to be at least three different colors, so you do the math. If you multiply that out over the length of my lifetime… you’re seeing the obvious problem here. Guess that’s something I need to add to my last will and testament. No slideshow at the funeral.

Anyway. Back on track. Brad was in a particularly happy mood on Thursday night because he was taking the day off on Friday. I love it when he’s happy like this. I told him as we walked into OTB that he was just too much fun. I went on to say that living with him was just like living with Marley. I meant that it absolutely the sweetest way. Really.

Brad stops in his tracks on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and says, “So, are you saying I’m a discount puppy?”

At this point, I’m hysterically laughing. Hysterically. Laughing. Discount puppy. I love it! And, I continued to love it all night. Every time the conversation hit a lull, I would look at Brad and think discount puppy and crack up all over again, especially since the actual comment from the movie is CLEARANCE puppy. But discount and clearance are close, so I’m going to cut Brad some slack here.

Now, if you haven’t seen the movie Marley and Me, you have two problems. You have missed out on an absolutely fabulous movie (and even better book!). And, my Marley comment is completely lost on you, but stick with me here. I am going somewhere with all this.

Brad’s random comment got me to thinking.

I’m just like Marley. I’m a clearance puppy. I manage to get myself in more messes than you can imagine. I’m not always obedient. I can be strong-willed and uncontrolled. I can be overbearing and demanding. I have unrealistic fears. I create trouble and heartache for others. I repeatedly make the same mistakes despite good training.

You know what the only difference is? I was not bought at a clearance price. I was bought with the precious blood of Jesus Christ.

God loved me enough that He send His only son to die on the cross for me, and He continues to love me despite my clearance behavior. He loves you, too! Some days we just need to hear that!!