Thank heaven for laughter

A few weeks ago, my husband, Michael, and I created a three-day

weekend so we could make a short road trip to Yosemite and stay there

for a couple of days.

On the way up to the national park, we stopped to relish the

wildflowers near Gorman. We missed the peak of the season, but we

would have never known if someone hadn’t later told us.

A blanket of deep blue lupine and pale blue gilia, creamy-white

tidy tips and cream cups, purple owls clover, orange California

poppies and golden coreopsis covered the hills of the Tejon Pass as

profusely as flowers on any Rose Bowl Parade float.

The grasses were beginning to brown, it was true, but stepping

into those fields was like stepping into a 3-D impressionistic

landscape born from the brushes of a painter like Georges Seurat or,

as it seemed, straight from the hands of God.

The flowers, lighted by the morning sun, swayed in a gentle

breeze. I could have sworn they were singing from Psalm 96.

“Sing to the Lord, all the earth.

Proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day.

Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad;

Let the field be joyful, and all that is in it.

Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the Lord.

For he is coming.”

In Yosemite, we were surrounded by still more of the beauty of the

earth. We were blessed over the days with every kind of weather,

rain, sun, hail and snow, and with the company of many members of our

family.

We hiked to waterfalls and rock falls, and lakes and giant

Sequoias flocked with new snow. We marveled at the beauty of the

earth. Little could have made the trek any better.

When the time came, it was difficult to head home. But the route,

although it was freeway most of the way, was also pleasant as it

threaded though farmland, small towns and budding vineyards.

I don’t know who first said, “All good things must come to an

end,” but I’m certain he spoke from experience, because the saying is

just too true. In our case, the pleasant spell of a pastoral time-out

came to an end quite abruptly.

A dog had wandered up an onramp onto busy Highway 41, right where

it meets Highway 99. My husband, like a number of other drivers, came

to a stop to avoid hitting it.

Our car stopped inches short of the panicked creature. For a

moment, the animal froze and his doe-like, bewildered eyes met mine

before he bolted.

In the next moment, our car heaved forwarded under a power not its

own. The driver of the car behind us never noticed the stopped and

slowing traffic. Her car hit ours. Another car hit the dog.

We weren’t hurt, and neither was the driver of the car that hit

ours or her passenger, thank God. But the vacation’s luster was

clearly tarnished, and we had hundreds of miles to drive home in our

limping sedan.

We rolled along for many miles, and I could have sworn all the

sound had been sucked out of the world. When bad things happen, my

knee-jerk reaction is to insist that God explain just exactly why.

By the time we reached the Pioneer Truck Stop in Delano, I needed

to do something to turn off the why-why-why soundtrack playing in my

heart. So Michael parked our car among the pick-ups and Mack trucks,

and we went into the coffee shop.

The first thing I saw when we stepped inside was a book, “If Life

Were Fair, Horses Would Ride Half the Time,” written by Wayne Allred.

It couldn’t have been more what I needed just than if it had been the

voice of God shouting from Heaven.

With its cornball humor, a cup of coffee and a handful of silent

prayers, the world was infused with sound again.

Few words in Scripture speak all too well of laughter. I’ve never

been sure why.

Proverbs 15:13 does say, “A merry heart makes a cheerful

countenance, but by sorrow of the heart the sprit breaks,” and

Ecclesiastes 3:4 says there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh.”

Job 8:21 says, “[God] will yet fill your mouth with laughing and

your lips with rejoicing.”

I often have to agree with whoever said, “Laughter is the best

medicine.” Thank God for humorists and comedians.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer. She can be reached at

michele@soulfoodfiles.com.