One year, I decided to buy my wife's mother a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift... The next year, I didn't buy her a gift.

When she asked me why, I replied, "Well, you still haven't used the gift I bought you last year!"

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn't run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed. But, somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the shed, the boat, brewing beer, watching TV. Always something more important to me.

Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point. When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors.

I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house. I was gone only a minute, and when I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, "When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway."

The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.

One Sunday after church Mom asked her very young daughter what the lesson was about.

Her daughter answered, "Don't be scared, you'll get your quilts." Needless to say, Mom was perplexed.

Later in the day, the Pastor stopped by for tea. Mom asked him what that morning's Sunday school lesson was about.

He said, "Be not afraid, Thy comforter is coming."

A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to helping the other monks in copying the old laws of the church by hand.

He notices, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. So, the new monk goes to the head monk to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies.

The head monk, says, "We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son."

He goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn't been opened for hundreds of years. Hours go by and nobody sees the head monk.

So, the young monk gets worried and goes down to look for him. He sees him banging his head against the wall and wailing.

"We missed the R!
We missed the R!
We missed the R!"

His forehead is all bloody and bruised and he is crying uncontrollably. The young monk asks the head monk, "What's wrong, father?"

The head monk with tears in his eyes replies, "The word is celebrate not celibate!"