And So, We Laugh
We stepped out of the Wal-Mart superstore into the blazing South Carolina sun, laughing in amazement at all the food we had managed to stuff into our cart. Our sister’s holiday was now ready to begin.
Looking out at the vast sea of vehicles, we paused, wondering where on earth we had parked our little rental car. Turning in the general vicinity and talking non-stop, we began to nonchalantly wander the parking lot in search of the car.
It was clear we had no idea where to find the car. We could only remember it as “starting with an A and being little and gray.”
Yeah, we’re good at identifying cars like that.
“Well,” my very intelligent sister Susan suggested, “just keep hitting the button on the key fob, and we can follow the beep.”
Which would have been an excellent idea had I not rented the basic economy car that had manual locks. Who knew they actually still made cars with manual locks? It was terribly inconvenient –especially now with the heat causing sweat to cascade down our backs and ice cream to melt in our bags.
Then we saw it and rejoiced! There it was—the little gray car that started with an A. Except my key wouldn’t unlock the door. And then there was the fact that someone else’s belongings were in the back seat!
I would like to say this is the only time I have tried to get into someone else’s car.
Giggling and blushing, we turned to scurry away before we were arrested for attempted auto-theft. Then my very intelligent sister suggested we look for the license plate; after all, I had quickly rattled it off to the manager when we checked into our suite.
She mentioned how impressed she was with my memory.
“What are you talking about?” I asked her, puzzled. “I gave him my license plate number — not the one on the car we are driving.”
Rolling her eyes and laughing in disbelief, she said, “Melissa, he didn’t need your Ontario license plate number. He needed the license plate of the car we are parking at the resort.”
Oh.
Somehow, before everything completely spoiled, we laughed our way around that parking lot until we found the car.
Back at the resort, we hauled those groceries, our weary selves, and far too many suitcases for just four days up three flights of stairs.
When we had everything away in our lovely, air-conditioned suite, we dove into our stash of food and decided to use our evening watching a movie. Except there wasn’t anything worthwhile on television. Having just recently moved back to the States, I told Susan all about this cool thing called “Redbox.”
“It only costs $1 to rent a movie!”
So, off we went, back to Walmart. This time we parked near the front so we wouldn’t lose our car again and, successfully, found a Redbox, chose our movie and headed back to said basic economy car.
Which was still running.
With the doors locked.
My sister looked at me incredulously and said just one word—”How?”
This is why you get Triple AAA. And why $1 movies are so important. Otherwise, how would you pay a locksmith $60 to come and break into your car?
To date, it is the most expensive movie I have ever paid to see.
Good thing we knew how to laugh.
The week progressed, and one of our favorite things was the lazy river at the resort—a new concept to me. Lying in an innertube, leaning back in the sunshine while effortlessly floating through canals surrounded by palm trees, was just the ticket.
Until you forget your sunglasses are on your head, and they drop in the water behind you, and you lean back to get them, and the whole inner tube flips over with you in it…
…and you are stuck floating down the river in your innertube bottom-side up in all of your glory.
Which happened to my sister. I think it’s important to make that clarification.
And to point out that, once she righted herself, we laughed—till we cried.
Finally, we decided to venture out to find a beach. In my opinion, Carolina beaches are the best beaches anywhere. The tall grasses and less crowded shores are beautiful and relaxing. We found the perfect place, enjoyed our afternoon, and then decided to take a stroll in the city before heading back.
Where were all these motorcycles coming from? And what were they doing? The noise was deafening, and the parade of rumbling Harley-Davidsons was both entertaining and educational.
Only I could book a sister’s vacation the same week as Black Biker’s week.
And, if we thought they were entertaining, I can only imagine what they thought of the two middle-aged modestly dressed white women in their midst. For the record, we were treated with friendliness, kindness, and respect.
That saying, I’m still not planning on buying a Harley anytime soon.
Laughter is a gift.
Even when we hurt, and it’s hard.
“To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven…
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4
You see, just eleven months earlier, I sat in the corner of my mother’s guest bedroom in Rossville, Georgia, knees drawn up, staring straight ahead at the wall. Word had come that my husband had committed suicide. Two hours passed, and I sat in silence, stunned, and unable to shed a tear.
Then, my brother-in-law, who had been working on a lay missions project some distance away, came into the room. When I say Phil is big and burly, I am not exaggerating. He has had two nicknames given lovingly to him through the years — “Rock of Ages” and “Ox.” Get the picture?
But his heart is just as big, and you can’t help but feel safe when he is near.
Without saying a word, he walked over and sat down right beside me on the floor and encircled me with muscled arms and understanding.
That’s when I finally cried.
When the tears momentarily dried, we leaned back in silence, one of his thickset arms protectively around my shoulders. I don’t know how long we sat there, but eventually, I could bear it no longer.
“Phil,” I said, “I love you, but your arm is killing me.”
And we laughed. Right there, for the briefest of seconds, amid the worst news either of us had ever received—we laughed.
A few days later, as I tried to begin to make sense of what had happened, a close family friend asked if there had even been one slight moment of reprieve from my agony. I thought of that moment sitting on the floor with Phil, laughing because of his heavy arm. I told him that, yes, I had laughed.
“Then you will be all right,” he said.
I don’t know if there is any scientific research to back up his premise, but I know that the Bible says, “A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones” (Proverbs 17:22, NKJV), and that is good enough for me.
That small moment of laughter didn’t make everything all right. And, that sister’s vacation was not all smiles.
The truth is, it was a terribly hard week.
A sad week because life would never be the same again,
A heavy week because we knew a long and difficult goodbye was coming,
A painful week because we couldn’t get away from the reason we hurt.
And yet, despite all of that, what we remember most about that trip today is the laughter.
Not all laughter is fun. Some laughter is just cruel.
And yet, safe laughter is always a gift.
Laughter that is shared in love, given with grace, and cherished for the treasure it is—this is safe laughter.
Healing, beautiful, and precious—this is the laughter that is a gift.
And so, we laugh, sometimes even as we cry.
And one day, if we are blessed, it is the laughter that we will remember the most.
