But be forewarned, once you start, you may not be able to stop! Help, I Can't Stop Laughing! offers a collection of nonstop fun, foibles, and rib-tickling humor for those who know that laughter is the best medicine. Contributors like Barbara Johnson, Martha Bolton, Mark Lowry, Patsy Clairmont, Becky Freeman, and Chonda Pierce share their most hilarious and embarrassing moments to remind you that God's love and a little laughter will keep you smiling no matter what curves life throws you. This cheerful collection of quips, stories, anecdotes, and quotes offers a continual source of refreshment in the midst of life's struggles and stresses. Let the laughter begin!Editorial ReviewsAbout the AuthorAnn 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 Women of the Bible (with Jean Syswerda). Her most recent books are The Tender Words of God and Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus (with Lois Tverberg.) She and her two daughters live in Grand Rapids, Michigan. SPANISH BIO: Ann Spangler, autora con galardones en su haber cuya fascinacion con la Biblia ha producido libros que han introducido esta a una amplia gama de lectores, es la autora de varios libros que han sido exitos de ventas, incluyendo Praying the Names of God, Praying the Names of Jesus y Mujeres de la Biblia (de la que es co-autora Jean Syswerda). En conjunto, se han vendido mas de 2 millones de ejemplares de sus libros. Ha ocupado puestos ejecutivos importantes en dos casas editoras cristianas y en la actualidad reside con sus dos hijas en Grand Rapids, Michigan..Shari MacDonald is the author of numerous Christian novels, coauthor of such titles as 'The Creative Memories Way', and compiler of several humor compilations, including 'Humor for a Mom's Heart'. She and her husband, live in Portland, Oregon with their twin sons. SPANISH BIO: Shari MacDonald es escritora de varias novelas cristianas y compiladora de varias obras anecdoticas incluyendo Humor para el corazon de una mama. Ella y su esposo, el fotoperiodista Craig Strong, viven en Portland, Oregon, con sus hijos gemelos.Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Help, I Can't Stop Laughing! Honest criticism is hard to take, particularly from a relative, a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger. --- Franklin P. Jones I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows. --- Janette Barber Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society. --- Mark Twain If Image Were Everything, We'd Be in Big Trouble Wild Mama Rachael Phillips Sleeping in --- an unknown luxury, a fairy-tale fantasy that inevitably dissolved in a shower of Cheerios and the wiggles and jiggles and messy, precious kisses of my preschoolers. Sleeping in existed in a different solar system --- or perhaps in a different galaxy far, far away. But those thoughts evaporated as I lay in a bed I wouldn't have to make, savoring the ecstasy of a quiet --- yes, quiet --- sixteenth story hotel room. My husband had already left for his conference, and I indulged in forbidden pleasures: a cup of real coffee (double cream) in bed, steaming hot from the first mellow sip to the very last; a television program in which most people already knew how to count to ten; and a long, sinful bath filled to the top, with no Mr. Bubble or rubber duckies in sight. After bathing, I ignored my ratty plaid bathrobe hanging on the hook. I didn't decide what to wear. Instead, I wandered around the room, carefree and content as Eve in the Garden of Eden, unhampered by diaper bags, car seats, nap times, or must-have blankies. I pondered how I would spend an entire day without children or Happy Meals. Intoxicated with my liberty, I forgot my mother's advice to always close the drapes and faced the room-sized picture windows. The panoramic view of city streets and smaller buildings far below dazzled my eyes, my soul. Embracing the endless azure sky, I sang, 'I'm free! Free!' 'Chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk!' A dragonfly the size of a sixties Cadillac suddenly hovered by the window. I hit the floor as if attacked by enemy fire, yanking the bedspread (too late!) across my naked, prostrate form. The traffic helicopter pilot waved. Then he and his mighty machine swept off to corners of the universe where other derelict mothers in need of reform might lurk. I pulled the blanket over my head and groaned. Mortification stuffed my throat like a giant spoonful of crunchy peanut butter. I felt a hot strawberry flush from my toes to my eyebrows. Not counting God, only my husband and my doctor had seen me in the buff; now a nameless helicopter pilot in Cleveland shared that...er...privilege. Him and who else? I grabbed my heart and my ratty plaid bathrobe and edged toward the window. Praise be. No Blue Angel precision jet formations screaming into view, scouting for the Miss Thunder Thighs competition. I closed the drapes, then donned a pair of khakis and my highest-necked sweater. I started my makeup routine. No blush needed today! I didn't dare turn the radio on as usual. Couldn't bear to think of that friendly pilot's nine o'clock traffic report. 'Great view over the city,' he'd say. 'Why, I can see clear to next Tuesday. No accidents downtown, but hey, cover up --- er, buckle up! --- for safety, and slow down for those curves!' Or maybe he'd give a few cute weather tips: 'Sunny, but chilly. Dress in layers. At least one.'