Laughter IS the Best Medicine by Lynn Dove

You don't have to be around me long to know I love to laugh.  I have been told that I have a very distinct, and hearty laugh.  My husband has spent thirty-nine years in the pursuit of trying to make me laugh every single day.  I don't know who's more thrilled when he succeeds, me or him, but when I laugh, it just tickles his fancy too and before we know it, we're reduced to tears and both of us are chortling uncontrollably.  It's a happy marriage.


My three children have learned to accept our frequent fits of laughter and though they don't always understand what their parents find so funny at times, they explain it away as one of our many parenting quirks and find it endearing, although sometimes embarrassing, especially when we laugh hysterically in front of their friends.  They don't realize that most of the time, we find THEM funny!  Sorry kids! 


In writing, there are times an unexpected pun or a misspelling of a word, that changes the whole meaning of a sentence, will catch me off guard.  I'm a grammar hound when it comes to media.  I can't help cringe and chuckle at the grotesque misspellings I discover in commercials, ads and social media.  Occasionally spellcheck will have me giggling for a day at the nonsensical word it comes up with to use in a certain context.  Even when reading or writing the most serious of articles, I can be reduced to fits of laughter because of a spellcheck or misspelled faux pas. 


I will admit there have been very few times in my life, when I didn't find something to make me laugh at least once during the day.  Whether in my writing or interacting with my family, friends, or seeing something in media or on television; life definitely makes for some very funny moments IF we choose to see them.  Case in point:


I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001.  That in itself is definitely NOT funny.  In fact, after the diagnosis, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to laugh again.  I was in a battle for my life and the usual twinkle of merriment in my husband's eyes was noticeably dimmed as we struggled as a couple to come to terms with our new reality.  My children ranged in age from five to fifteen, and I begged God to help me see the plan and purpose in this for me and my family. 


Days before my mastectomy surgery, I sat down at my computer and began to write a long letter to a friend asking her to pray for me.  I was terrified about the upcoming surgery and I honestly wasn't sure I would survive.  I was deeply depressed and I was facing a crisis of belief.  After the initial diagnosis I had "camped out" in Scripture, trying to find comfort in the Word, finally coming to Jesus' prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane before His Passion.  I wrote to my friend, "I feel like Jesus did when he prayed to His Father: "Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." Matthew 26:39.  After I had written that, my daughter who was fifteen at the time, leaned over my shoulder and began reading the letter.  She stopped when she read the scripture passage and gasped.  Then she started to giggle.  She couldn't stop and soon tears were streaming down her eyes and she pointed at the screen. 


I had thought my letter poignant and filled with pathos.  To see my child dissolved in laughter, was the least I had ever expected the letter to illicit and to tell the truth, I was more than a little upset by her insensitivity towards my dire health circumstances.  She was certainly old enough to understand the seriousness of the situation, and we had been very open with her about what I was about to face.  Then she pointed again and said, "Think about it, Mom...your surgery...a cup being taken from you...CUP?...bra cup...?"  It dawned on me the literal meaning she had picked up by reading the verse that I had connected to my particular circumstance and I started to laugh.  Before we knew it, we were hugging, laughing and crying uncontrollably.  After our laughter quieted, my oldest child, who had been bottling up her pent up emotions until then shared openly her real fear of losing me.  After reading my letter, she knew that if we could laugh, if God could allow laughter into our lives about something so very serious and at that VERY moment, she knew everything was going to be okay!


It was after that conversation, I revised my letter to my friend and changed it's original sombre tone to one of upbeat positivity and I shared what had just transpired between my daughter and me.  I asked my friend to pray of course for my upcoming surgery, but to also send me jokes, funny videos and humourous anecdotes throughout my recovery process.  Then I enlisted all my other friends and family to do the same, and from that day forward my email correspondence included every manner of frivolity that made me laugh and lifted my spirit through my surgeries and the chemotherapy treatments that followed.  My request went viral, and soon strangers from all over the world, were sending me encouraging scripture verses as well as fun, family-friendly jokes, riddles, puns and videos.  My husband, once again continued his quest of trying to make me laugh every day, so even on the day I asked him to shave my head bald after the first chemo treatment, I was laughing while he cried! 


I don't make light of the awful experience of cancer or the devastating consequences and treatments that accompany the disease.  I would NEVER wish the diagnosis on anyone, but I believe God used humour to encourage me through that most difficult time in my life.  Someone asked me how I could stay so upbeat during that two year battle and I responded, "I can laugh or I can cry, I choose to laugh." 


For me, laughter was, and still is, the best medicine.

Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and at lynndove.com  

The Magic of Laughter by Sandi Somers

 “A cheerful heart is good medicine.” Proverbs 17:22 (NIV)

“…for the happy heart, life is a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15 (NLT)

This month we're adding a little humour, asking our writers focus on the lighter side of their writing life.

* * *

The following is a true story, written during my days as a Teacher Librarian. I’ve changed a couple details to disguise the boys’ identities. And although I wrote it in the form of a fairy tale, I saw the hand of God working in the “coincidental” details.

A Tale of Two Shoes

Part 1: Natif

          Once upon a time a boy named Natif came to our school and joined our Grade Two class. He was new to Canada, having just immigrated with his family. One October day we had a heavy wet snowfall. This was the first snow Natif had seen.

 I was was on supervision in the school’s entryway as Natif returned for the afternoon class. Wet, large snowflakes clung to his black hair and jacket, and he scrunched his body and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm.

          “How do you like the snow, Natif?” I asked.

          “No like!” he said as he stomped his feet to clear snow off his running shoes.

          “Natif, you have new outdoor running shoes,” I said. “They’re nice black and white ones.” He smiled proudly as he took them off, set them on the rack and left for his classroom.

          Snow kept falling all afternoon.

Part 2: Grant

          Now in the same school was a ten-year-old boy, Grant, from the Special Ed class. At 3:15, the bell rang to dismiss the students. Quickly the school emptied, and even most of the teachers went home early to avoid rush hour traffic tie-ups. Because I lived close, I wasn’t worried about my five-minute commute, and so stayed to finish up loose ends.

          I heard footsteps approach the library where I was working: clunk, step; clunk, step; clunk step. Grant arrived, one large running shoe on one foot, one sock on the other foot. “I can’t find my other outdoor running shoe!” he said, “Where’s my shoe? I can’t go home until I find my running shoe!”

I hugged him. “You wore it to school,” I said, “so it’s got to be around here somewhere.”

We searched his classroom. “Where’s my shoe? What happened to my running shoe?” he asked again, more to himself than to me.

We searched my library where he had had a class earlier that afternoon. No shoe. We searched through the lost and found box, turning over all the gloves and shoes and boots and sweaters. No shoe. We searched again—carefully—his classroom. No shoe. We searched everywhere but could find no running shoe.

          “But there’s another one…” Grant said, leading me to the student entry way. He picked up a black and white running shoe, exactly like his, but much smaller. And much newer. “I tried it on,” he said, “but it didn’t fit. I can’t even get my foot in! Where’s my other running shoe?”

Part 3: The fairy godmother

         Just then the fairy godmother appeared and waved her wand, sprinkling fairy dust over me. At once I made a connection. I had seen smaller running shoes just like Grant’s that noon. Natif’s! He must have picked up Grant’s shoe and gone home in the snow, one small shoe and one large shoe. Swish step, swish step, swish step.

          I phoned Natif’s home. His older brother Ali answered. “Has Natif come home yet?” I asked slowly, as Ali wasn’t fluent in English yet.

          There was a long pause, then Ali said, “Yes, he home. Why?”

          “Can you check his running shoes? Are the two shoes the same?”

I waited.

          He was laughing when he picked up the phone. “Same shoes. One little, one big. And big one old!” Sure enough, Natif had gone home with Grant’s other shoe—and he hadn’t even noticed. He quickly returned to school, and the boys switched running shoes.

          The two boys left: Step, step; step, step; step, step

And so we all went home and lived happily ever after.

* * *

          It was a delight to experience and write this story, and I still have tender images of Grant, the perplexed boy who couldn’t find his running shoe.

Now over to you. Tell about a humourous incident that happened in relation to your writing life, or one you wrote about. Alternatively, tell about how you use humour in your writing.

Narrowing It Down by Glynis M. Belec

Goodness, gracious. This'll be a tough one for this ADD girl, but I'll try and sit down and focus for this interview. Thanks for asking. Although, having to narrow down my 'projects' to one 'project' is going to be the challenge. As a bit of an 'all over the place' kind of writer, I might just get a little fidgety as I force myself to answer these 10 great questions proffered forth to we who blog. But I will try. 

Okay, brain - focus:

1.  What are you currently working on? 

My current project, HELP. . .I NEED A NEW FIG LEAF!   

“Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh…” Encouraging stories for the descendants of Eve,was supposed to be ready for Christmas. Life happened and as a result my book manuscript didn't [happen]. But once again, I am excited to say that after this week I have set aside time to buckle down and work on my women's devotional.

2. Is it a new project or something you’ve been working on a while now? 

HELP. . .I NEED A NEW FIG LEAF! is actually something I have been working on for a long time. A lot of the content is based on stories from my past - some that, although adapted for my book, appeared in my Sugar and Spice newspaper column which I wrote for over 11 years. 

3. Is this a usual genre for you? 

It's humorous. It's intention is to draw people closer to God. And it's based on my own kooky life, so yes, I guess I can say that it is usual for me to write in this genre. Although I do love writing for children as much as I love writing devotional material.

4. How did the idea come about?

Humor is a contagious emotion and a universal language.  Laughter can bring unexpected gleams of joy and can break through the stresses and the hassles of the humdrum.  As I wrote my columns for the secular paper over the years, I couldn't help thinking about all the scriptural analogies connected to my stories.

5. What do you want to accomplish by this writing?

I wrote Help…I Need a New Fig Leaf!  for the Christian woman who needs to be encouraged and validated in her role and relationships, and to unite her with other women celebrating God’s gift of laughter. My prayer is that the reader is reassured that seemingly mundane tasks can be lifted to a spiritual level.  There is nothing more reassuring to a wife and mother than to discover she is not alone in her experiences, wouldn't you say?  

6. What is giving you joy or frustration at this time?  Anything blocking the flow?

As per usual, time is my hindrance. I cannot believe how full my days are. I long to write full time. But priorities are what they are right now. I care for my elderly father so that takes up a lot of time - although I am happy to do so and thrilled that my almost 88 year old poppa bear is still up and running. I truly am blessed so I hesitate to complain too much about things. Like a friend of mine keeps reminding me, there are seasons in our lives. . .

Once I sit down to write, words flow like spring sap. All I need to do is to make the time to tap the tree. Things are looking hopeful. I have a few speaking events in May so with some good management I can do some focussed work on HELP. . .! 

7. What are you discovering about how the writing is unfolding? Is it a surprise?

Even though many of these stories had their beginnings years ago, I am surprised each time by the freshness of the message. God is good. His Word is real. I love it when scripture jumps out at me and I can say 'Yup! That's it! That's the one that matches what I want to share.

8. Please share a paragraph or two to give us a teaser?

                       SHOPPING FOR TROUBLE

People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them.  When Jesus saw this, He was indignant.  He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”  And He took the children in His arms and blessed them.  Mark 10:13-16

The long awaited weekend finally arrived.  Shopping in the city with my delightful children promised fun, frivolity and pleasurable purchases.   I had two children, two hands, a full tank of gas and money to spend; all was well with the world.

The half-hour drive to the city gave me an opportunity to proffer wisdom and reminders about honoring and obeying.  I was certain God was pleased with my approach. Both little darlings nodded in agreement at my instruction and vowed to get along and listen.

Our shopping expedition was underway.  As we strolled near a ladies’ wear store, a rack of marvelous sale merchandise beckoned me to take a peek.  I took the bait and began fumbling through the fine array of fashionable styles.

There had to be more inside, I deduced.   We entered the trendy store and I whispered clear directives to my tagalong twosome about staying close and keeping hands off the merchandise.  I headed to a rack of shimmering dresses.   “Mommy…I need to go to the bathroom badly!’ a little voice soon called out. 

Sharply dressed sales clerks stared at me, no doubt wondering what I would do.  The old bathroom excuse was my son’s finest tactic for getting me to hurry up, but it wasn’t going to work this time.  I needed a few more minutes to look around.  “You’ll have to wait…” I whispered and resumed my browsing.

Moments later I saw my smiling son come strolling out of an employees only door.  “See.  There is a restroom, Mommy.”    I reiterated my earlier command to join his sister on the bench outside the fitting rooms. 

A sales clerk with a pasted on smile handed me a number and, clutching two stunning outfits, I entered a fitting room close to the bench where my fidgeting pair sat. 

I had barely struggled to get out of my clothes when the flimsy door burst open. “I wanna’ see, too!”  My son’s voice bounced off the walls of the posh store. I inadvertently let out a scream.   There I stood, red-faced in my underwear. All heads turned my way.  I hauled the culprit into the now cramped change room and with gritted teeth strongly advised him to never do that again.

After a difficult struggle in the tiny cubicle (complete with son) I managed to try on one of the outfits.  I stepped outside the room to see if the mirror did me any justice. “They look like pajamas!” my daughter laughed. “Sshhh!”  I hissed noticing eyes upon me again.  I nipped back into the room with son in tow.

It was my daughter’s turn to get restless.  She had spotted a circular revolving rack heavily laden with ‘just in’ designer clothing.  I walked out of the fitting room in time to see the entire rack whiz around and fall to the floor.  Fancy apparel flew in every direction.  I could have screamed.  My daughter did.

A thousand apologies later and short of placing sin offerings at the feet of the fuming sales clerks, I left - without frock or finery.  I now had the undivided attention of the partners in crime and they could tell momma bear was not happy.  “D’we hafta’ go home now?” a sheepish voice sensed the impending doom. 

As I contemplated the purchase of two collars and one short leash, my heart softened.  How many times had I gone to God with a sheepish voice and how many times had He forgiven me?   Too often I have embarrassed God with thoughtless words and foolish choices.  Yet He still loves me despite my imperfections and foibles.

 In Psalm 127:3 we are reminded that children are a heritage from the Lord and are to be counted as blessings not burdens.

So I counted my blessings for the rest of the shopping trip.  

Relief was written on the faces of my dynamic duo and I was 

especially happy when we read the sign in the next window - 

CHILDREN WELCOME.  I’m sure they’ll have that same 

sign on the gates of heaven!

9. When do you plan to have it completed?  

Well, a long time ago I sheepishly asked Phil Callaway if he might consider reading my manuscript for a possible endorsement. He said he would. Therefore, I will be shooting to get it done before the Inscribe Fall Conference in September - I'm going and so is Phil! 

10. Anything else you’d like to add? 

 Thanks for listening. Happy writing. 

Blessings, 

Glynis

Canadian Immigration Ruse - Glynis M. Belec

For eleven years I wrote a column in our local newspaper. That was the beginning of my writing career.

I had mustered up enough courage to submit an article for consideration. Before I knew it our wonderful small-town editor was requesting 'more.' She invited me to write a weekly column and she said they would pay me $2 a column inch. God was blessing me mightily. Life was good. My family were incredibly decent sports. Sometimes I would pick on them or I would write about inspirational moments or day to day joy-filled experiences. I talked about parenting and the weaknesses and worries I experienced as I tried my best to be a good mom. If I could find a snippet of humour in the everyday, I was off and running.
   

I remember one column way back in 1991.. Happy Hubby and Raymond were the focus. Raymond was a sweet young lad who had just started working for my hubby in his sign business. I guess they didn't have too much on the go on this particular day. Oh how well I remember.

It was mid afternoon. The telephone rang.

"Glynis Belec?"

"Yes," I replied, wondering who the official sounding voice was. (No call display back then!)

"This is Mr. Soblofski from Immigration Canada."

I perked up a little since I had recently applied for my Canadian Citizenship. Maybe they were calling me to tell me that all was in order and that I could come and be sworn in as an official Canadian.

"Hello," I continued in a cheery voice.

Silence.

Then I heard it.

"Mrs. Belec. I am afraid I have some bad news," the voice on the other end announced.

I felt my heart sink and I gulped.

"Oh?"

"It seems there is a problem with your paperwork and when you came to Canada as a child in 1967 there was some incomplete information and you have been living in Canada illegally. I have to advise you that as of the end of the week you will hereby be deported back to England until this matter can be resolved."

"What?" I was horrified and devastated. And confused and, and...well suffice to say I responded in high frequency tones.

"I can't leave. I have young children and a husband. I can't just pick up and leave Canada. There must be some mistake."

I was slowly losing my cool. I was bordering on frantic.

It seemed Mr.Soblofski from Immigration Canada was getting equally upset as he heard me getting upset. As I rambled...he started giving me suggestions like how my husband could take time off work or perhaps I might consider hiring Raymond for a babysitter...
Raymond? What was this government official talking about?

I had been had. It was Raymond hamming it up, egged on by my hubby. It was all a prank. The rollicking laughter on the other end of the phone was a clear indicator that their mission was accomplished.  Oh did I have fun with them in my column the following week. The rascals had me for a moment but I sure had fun writing about their dastardly deed.

And so my joy continued. It seemed I was never short for material. God opened my eyes to the everyday opportunities and ideas. That editorial was my sweet beginning. Eventually, in 1997 it was time to retire my column and get busy with other things. Every so often when I need a reminder about how life made me laugh back then and how blessed I was with a wonderful family (and others) who let me write about them week after week, I pull out the faded newspapers and 'have a read.'

P. S. I ended up getting my Canadian citizenship at the end of 1991 without a hitch. Funny though, I never met Mr. Soblofski. Probably fired him!