Low Carb Laughter

A friend is going through a divorce and sought my advice, my input, anything I could share that would tell her how to survive. It sounds so lame to just say one day (minute) at a time; the next breath, the next step, do the next thing - but in fact, it's the truth. Today wasn't the day to share this little article that I wrote in the early 1990s, but a little further down the line, when she has learned that tears aren't terminal and she realizes that she's having a good day, maybe I'll show it to her and she can believe it too. 

“Oh-h-h, lady, please don’t cry!  I’ll be happy to cut you some better ones!”

The pathetic look on the butcher’s face made me realize how ridiculous I must have looked. I forced a chuckle through my tears and said, “No, no; these will be fine.  Thank you very much.”  I took the three carefully wrapped pork chops and went on my way.  Impulsively I knew what I would write in my journal that night. “Some day this is all going to be very funny…but today, the reality – the never-ending reality of the divorce is not funny.”

The bigger, more obvious adjustments to being a single parent were easier to handle.  It was the smaller ones (buying three pork chops instead of four) that would trip me up time and time again.  Ironically, however, it would be those same events that would draw on my sense of humor as I stumbled through new adjustments to enjoy a lighter side of life, reminding me how good laughter is for the soul.

One such instance involved moving from a very large home to a small rental.  That day I wondered if I would ever laugh again; but it has been said that truth is stranger than fiction and this was to be no exception.  The movers had gone and two teenage daughters were busy personalizing their new rooms.  Blaring radios threatened to have us evicted before we were even unpacked.  I sat in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by boxes, feeling totally displaced so I consoled myself with a diet soda and a brownie. Tears mingled with frosting and walnuts, leaving a soggy, messy napkin and an exhausted, weary soul.  I wondered briefly if I could crawl into one of those boxes, finding that when I awoke it had all been a bad dream.  “Oh God,” I cried.  “Please help me. I can’t do this alone!”   He very quickly and gently reminded me that I didn’t have to. I will never leave you or forsake you....for behold, I am with you always…the Lord is near to the brokenhearted…I will uphold you with My righteous right hand…do not fear; do not be afraid…

After a good cry (sidebar: what does that mean, anyway, a good cry? Is there a bad cry?), I took a deep breath and looked at the mess around me. Where was I to start?  The task was much bigger than my energy level.  But it occurred to me that the supermom of the old TV sitcoms would never have given in to discouragement so easily.  She would have rolled up her sleeves (in high heels and apron, no doubt) and begun settling in.  Refreshed by that visual, I did just that, although I paid little attention to where I was putting things.

The lighter side prevailed, however, when I looked in the mirror hours later and saw a ‘raccoon face’ looking back at me.  The tears had left their mark – literally. That explained the shocked look on the new neighbor’s face earlier. I had answered the door and there he stood with a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of brownies and a very surprised expression.  I vowed to use nothing but waterproof mascara from that day forward. The thought of how it would read in my journal assured me that I would indeed survive this shattered dream.  There had been times when I was afraid I wouldn’t and other times when I was afraid I would.  I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Lonely days and sleepless nights challenged my decision making, but humor was not to be outdone.  The bigger choices (to buy or not buy a car) were relatively easy.  Much more difficult was which line to sign on the register at church.  Was I still a Mrs.?  Was I a Miss again?  Or was I, in fact, a Ms.?  Let it be said that while we think church “should” be the safest place (emotionally) to be, I found it to be the most difficult of all.  People who had been our extended family – the same people who shared ball games and potlucks and root beer floats after Sunday evening services – were now uncomfortable around me.  They cared about both me and my ex-husband and didn’t want to take sides.  I never doubted that they still loved me; they just didn’t know what to do with me.

Tears ran freely and often but were pushed aside once again when I realized the reason I couldn’t unlock my new car was because I was holding my house keys.  Ah, yes…my new car – my shiny, less-than-a-week-old car – until someone put her gear shift in drive instead of reverse and rearranged the entire grille and hood of my shiny blue Pontiac.  She was near hysteria as she apologized over and over, gasping for breath, tears fogging up her glasses.  “Oh, please, God” I cried. “Don’t let her have a heart attack. I don’t have time for emergencies!”  I assured her that we would just call the police and the insurance companies; then we’d both be on our way.   My composure surprised her as she tried to regain some of her own.  “Ma’am,” I said, “I just have to tell you; in the whole scheme of life, this is not a problem.  It is, by any standard, a major inconvenience and lesson in pride; but that’s the reason we pay insurance premiums.  Besides,” I added, “if I don’t laugh, I am going to sit down in this snowdrift and cry!”  Her laughter broke the tension and I knew that another sad-turned-upside-down situation would find its way into my book that night.  I sensed that God had sent an angel to my side and that he, too, was recording the moment.

As the next several years brought new lessons, new growth, new pain, I clung to Romans 8:28 when it felt like I had little to cling to. “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”  (NASB)  If I believed it, there was hope.  If I didn’t, there was nothing.  I chose to believe it.

You may call it humor, an attitude, survival or a simple belief that all things do indeed work together for our good.  I call it all of those things, but I also believe that laughter is a tool that helps soothe the wounds of forced change.  I look forward to the day when I can look back at the ‘Via De La Rosi’ and say that I was right.  Some of it is funny now and I am a stronger, better person because of it.  Thank you, God, for the gift of laughter and the ability to not take ourselves too seriously.

Author Barbara Johnson, in her book Stick a Geranium in Your Hat and Be Happy, says that a friend of hers once shared that her favorite Bible verse was “…and it came to pass”.  When Barbara asked her to explain, the friend simply said, “Well, just think.  It could have come to stay!” 

Amen to that!