We know when tears entered the human race. It’s impossible to imagine Adam and Eve, banished from paradise, dry-eyed and unmoved as they packed for a home among the thorns. Laughter? We don’t have the slightest clue about the first joke, mishap, or self-deprecating comment to elicit a giggle from our ancestors. We do know delight produces mirth, so I picture an Eden filled with happy sounds of every kind. Isn’t it just like our Creator to let the human race first taste laughter before tears? And how amazing He prepared us for grief by fitting us first with the ability to laugh.

The Gift of Laughter

Earlier this year, ticket sales opened for a special night at Temple. Maggie’s favorite comedian, Tim Hawkins, scheduled a show at our home church. We had to buy them, didn’t we? We went one better than that ordering four “Uber Fan” package tickets with reserved seating and back stage passes to meet the king of clean comedy. Maggie was over-the-moon excited to see the show and meet the man. After all, his DVDs had entertained her through countless hours of painful treatment. The date of the big event? Sunday, September 30, 2018. Last night. Phil, Molly, and I decided we needed the light-hearted evening. I silently wondered if the jokes would lift our mood or fall flat on grief-tender spirits. We love humor and rely on this powerful antidote to cover a multitude of poisons. But how would it taste mixed with fresh tears?

A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones (Proverbs 17:22). Laughter removes the bandage and pronounces the wound healed. Yes, mourning has a time and place. But left raw and unalloyed with lighter moments, grief allows the dry, searing wind of its bitter climate to drive the very life from within. Our tears are necessary and noticed by God as Psalms 56:8 tells us He stores them in a jar. But that which is bottled is quantified and, thus, limited. Laughter? Just try to capture and put a lid on it. Though our tears will meet their Waterloo in heaven, I have a hunch heaven will be filled with unfettered and very vocal joy.

In a paradox I can’t begin to explain, Maggie’s experience with cancer swept away her overly sensitive nature and replaced it with a formidable sense of humor. Once again, she bloomed. She laughed frequently and deeply. A witty, sometimes tart, never profane, rarely hurtful ability to joke repeatedly pulled her thoughts from a black hole of self-pity and depression. In true Tim Hawkins fashion, we composed parody songs to occupy time and lift spirits. She did shed her share of tears. But laughter is never beyond the reach of hearts desperate to hold on to hope and joy.

Tim Hawkins shares the story from his early career. Asked to add his favorite verse to an autograph, he mistakenly wrote Psalm 38:7. He then repeated the reference for all others in line. Only later at home did he check the verse and find, to his embarrassment, this: “Lo, I have a painful disease in my loins.” Maggie loved the story and found the irony in her own life too rich to ignore. She delighted in sharing it as her life verse.

Laughter Brings Joy

So, we went to the show last night. We found our seats on the first row, dead center. In our enthusiasm to get tickets, we were the first of over 2000 to buy. That was our first laugh but far from the last. We laughed out loud until our innards ached. And quite unexpectedly, I felt closer to my girl in those few hours than in the sum of all my tear-soaked moments since her death. That giant dose of medicine healed our hearts a little more and lightened our spirits with what author Ann Lamott calls “carbonated holiness”. Bringing us closer to Maggie without wishing her back with us. Another foretaste of glory. Laughter. A beautiful life should echo, not in our weeping, but in our joy.