Okay, let’s cheer things up a little around here. And who better to come to the rescue of us all than…SuperDave!

So he, Da Man, gets in from work on Tuesday. Monday, he brought groceries. Tuesday, he brings lateness due to overtime. I have spent the day being secretly whiny and miserable, which I do from time to time.

He saunters in, sits down, and proceeds to tell funny stories about work. How he does this, I don’t know. He’s worked a lot of overtime in the last two months. He’s sick of being at work all the time. But he does, and he has me laughing riotously at things like the pernicious ability of a foul substance known as trunion grease to migrate sight unseen into areas from which it should be exempt, and silently explode all over people before they even realize it.

He then sweeps me off to our room for a good hour or more of romance. My man is back in the captain’s chair. Most things are automatically set right with the world.

The next day, as he sets out to swashbuckle his way through home tasks, he is rolling his eyes at me. This is because I am clinging to his neck and kissing him instead of letting him go swashbuckle. He informs me he has been kissed more in the last 24 hours than the entire month previous. I feel the same way, but unlike Mr. Adventurepants, I am not complaining about how time is a-wasting and the world is slipping past unconquered. Good grief. Some swashbucklers are just incorrigible.

He orders me once again to get finished with that book. I have noticed my publisher of choice is currently closed to submissions. This has an interesting effect on me. For one, I feel no pressure. For another, I feel a niggling sense of … adventure. Yep. I’ve long known approximately what fits I could make with major houses as well as indie outfits. Whether they’d want me or not is a matter for pure speculation, but I feel a relaxing sense of unhurriedness. So, Wednesday, I sit down to review the work so far.

Thursday is all about essay writing for moody teenagers. Unfortunately, I am not a good influence. I have written a song for a friend, and my oldest said it vaguely reminds him of Weird Al’s “Found It on eBay.” Instead of essay work, we end up on YouTube, laughing at Weird Al, then laughing even harder at the Backstreet Boys and their whiny high tenors and hoserly outfits. When I tell the kid who my song is for, he bursts out laughing. We agree. “Found him on eBay” is just too perfect in this case.

So, I think it’s time to smile. I think it’s time to forget what could go wrong. It’s time to be a wrongness atheist. Forget what could be out there. Let’s insist on wrongness naturalism. If our fears and troubles don’t currently exist in physical reality, let us scoff cheerily at the notion of them. Let us call them misguided and backward, not fit for our enlightened way of life.

And let’s be goodness theists. Because there is no reasonable objective standard for good without God. I have no good besides Thee. (Ps. 16:2) Let us use reason and logic, evidence and acceptable means of rational interpolation and extrapolation, to examine today and see beyond the physical events to an exceeding weight of glory.

Oh, and, let’s read that psalm. Because I can. I’m free to taste and see that the Lord is good, without penalty or punishment. This moment is for seeking the presence of God. Let us press on to know the Lord.

Come on, I dare ya. Laugh with me. Dance with me. Even if you have two left feet. Even if you’re Mennonite (gasp!). Even if you’re broke or sad or scared or rushed or tired. Tomorrow never comes. So come on. Let’s dance.