A man sitting in a booth next to me at breakfast complained about everything on the menu. It started when the waitress announced that the restaurant was out of oatmeal.
“You are out of oatmeal?” he asked incredulously, as if she had just told him the world had run out of water.
“How can you be out of oatmeal? That’s ridiculous. There’s not one other item on this menu that I like,” he grumbled. Since the breakfast menu covered two pages, I doubted that was true.
He reluctantly ordered eggs but had them recooked three times. I watched his waitress try to slip by his table without being seen. I recommended she wear camouflage.
After he began to rant about his eggs for a third time, I said very loudly, “For God’s sake just eat!!”
The laughter rule . . .
Each morning I call my mom on the way to work. Since her stroke, we have made a commitment to tell each other upbeat, funny stories.
The other day mom remembered the time she let go of dad’s wheelchair to unlock the car, and he rolled down a small hill into a parking lot.
Don’t worry, people determined to be sad, he wasn’t hurt. And the shared laughter energized both of us.
This week, I’ve veered towards the patter of the man who didn’t get his oatmeal. I know it’s only Tuesday, but I can feel my energy going south.
Yesterday and today, our conversations sounded something like this –
Mom: “Well, how are things going?”
Me: “I just can’t get my story written the way I want it. I’m tired. I’m tired of trying.”
Mom: “Well, didn’t you say you felt led to write this book?”
Me: “Yes, but I also felt led to buy that expensive make-up that ended up making my face swell twice it’s normal size, so I’m not trusting that feeling.”
And I proceed to tell more “poor me” stories. I think mom needs to put me in a wheelchair and roll me down a hill.
God is funnier than we think . . .
My dad used to hate it when people in church would read scripture as if God only understood dirges. The reader’s face would droop, his or her eyes would stare at the pages as if looking at her shoes, and any ability to smile disappeared.
Frustrated by this, my father gave an entire sermon on Jesus’s sense of humor. As he looked at the congregation, he saw nothing but stone faces. Later he told me, “I think they are determined to be serious.”
It’s not that we should be cavalier, it’s that we need to let laughter get on stage more often so it can do its job.
I remember sitting at my grandmother’s funeral, flanked by my mom and aunt. They were both sniffling as we were given the best seats in the house – those directly in front of the casket. Being immediate family, we got the gussied up chairs that were covered in fake blue fur.
As we sat, I whispered, “I feel like I’m sitting on a muppet.” And we all laughed, as Grandmom would have. With that laughter the air lightened and the casket lost its power.
You see, I think the future is bright. . .
I believe that we are eternal, and laughter is just a glimpse into the joy from which we came.
Why so serious? Maybe because we are afraid of being responsible for the amazing possibilities within us.
Following is one of my favorite passages that is often attributed to Nelson Mandela. I found it in Marianne Williamson’s book, “A Return to Love.”
I hope this passage means as much to you as it does to me, and I hope you shine a little brighter after reading it.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
—-from A Return to Love, by Marianne Williamson.
If you like the paragraph, you’ll love the book…! (AMAZON.COM)
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8 comments. Leave new
I need laughter in my days. I think everyone does, but some people just choose to be somber. It always makes me sad to be around those who,have no light. Does it come from faith? Does it come from knowing we are only here temporarily? Or is it just plain joy because we ARE?
I feel so grateful for each day I am given to experience life. I know that sounds trite, but it’s a fact of who,I am. A very blessed and faithful woman who takes nothing in her life for granted because too much has been taken away. The memories of those lost spirits me forward to appreciate, to love and to honor every moment I have and every blessing I’ve been given.
Life is for living and loving and losing and laughing.
I’m all about living in the now with a smile.
Jo – what a beautiful comment. Isn’t it strange that so many of us have found joy in loss? There is something spectacular about the spirit from which we come. I have friends who are irritated at my “spiritual bent,” but I can’t help it. It’s who I choose to be, and it sounds like you have chosen the same. Thank you for sharing!
As someone who has spent the greater part of her church life trying to teach readers to proclaim Scripture with the emotions inherent in the readings (and there are some damn funny bits in Scripture – Adam whining when God calls him out on that Tree thing, for example), I agree with your Dad’s observations. Laughter and joy and passion are all a part of who we are. Thanks for the post.
Anne Louise – Dad used to say that we came from God’s imagination, so why do we imagine that God is a dullard? And why do we think that believing in God means we cause a snooze-fest wherever we go? Love your perspective. Thank you for sharing!
you make me laugh-you make me think-you bring precious memories of my time with your mom and dad-Mars Hill, Wake Forest, Newport News-God bless-finish your book-hug your mom for me and never stop sharing your thoughts
Tom: You have no idea how much your comments mean to me. And I owe you for many, many years of laughter. I will hug mom, and will keep sharing. Love to you –
My sisters made me laugh like crazy at my mother’s funeral. Laughter, when at an inappropriate moment, is the very best laugh you can have!
I agree, Joan. It’s like a balm on the soul. Thanks for sharing. I also laugh like crazy in elevators, however. Not sure what that’s about.