My dad is a great storyteller. He remembers moments from his childhood and he can transport you to that moment with him, always with a lot of embellished hilarity. We often think of him like the narrator from the movie “A Christmas Story”, weaving childhood antics together into an exaggerated and totally bizarre tale. The best part about Dad’s stories, is that he comes to life. I have heard many of these tales dozens of times and I am always totally hooked when he tells it again. Someday we’ll get him on video.

One of these stories is sticking out in my mind this morning (maybe because of this amazing commercial), so I’m going to poorly re-tell it from my memory. It feels a little bit like stealing, like I’m trying to sell you a fake Rolex on the street, but meh… I’m not above that.

One night, Grandma (you can read more about her here) was out and the boys were at home alone. Like every parent since forever, she had household rules-- like don’t throw balls in the house. But mom was gone. It was only natural when mom was gone to do exactly everything she ever told you not to do. Playing ball in the house it is! Of course it was the first thing that happened, the ball slipped, the lamp crashed, fear and panic took over. At this point in the story my dad would say something like, “SHE’S GONNA KILL US!” It always cracks me up that my dad, as a kid, lived in constant fear of my grandmother actually killing him. She was a fierce woman, that’s for sure, but I’m not sure she had a murderous streak in her little frame. Fearing that they might be actually murdered by their mother, my dad and uncle frantically got out the glue and started assembling the shattered lamp.

Now, I have no idea how long my grandmother was out that night, but my dad says they did it. They got all the pieces together, every little shard. I imagine glue oozing everywhere and sharp little pieces of lamp cutting their fingers. This was serious commitment on their part. When they were finished, there the lamp sat - back on the table, looking just as it should. They were off the hook. It worked. That lamp sat on that table for YEARS and Grandma never noticed. I wonder if they boys if they felt triumphant every time they passed through the living room. Ha! We actually got away with it!

One day she was dusting, and grabbed hold of the top of the lamp and it crumbled in her hands. Then she noticed all of the pieces and the globs of dried glue on the inside. I think enough time had passed, and she couldn’t believe they actually got all the pieces together, she laughed and shook her head.

How much of my life has been spent gluing pieces together frantically, so that no one will see my flaws? Always trying to keep it together … making all the pieces fit and still not getting it right. It looks pretty good on the outside, but the brokenness is still there.

Back in college, on of my favorite professors had broken pieces of a clay pot on a shelf in his office. He told me that when a clay pot is broken, it can be ground down to a powder and water can be added to make new clay. An entirely new creation can be made from the pieces of that broken pot. I don’t want to keep picking up the pieces and gluing them in place. I don’t want to be a fragile version myself, always protective of past hurts. I would rather go through the tough process of being made into a new creation. But that’s the difference… I can put the pieces back together… or I can be made into a new creation. Did you notice the difference? I can try and work and hope the glue holds, or I can depend on God to re-make me.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”   2 Corinthians 5:17

I love the image of God as the pottter, always molding and shaping His creation. Baptismal waters keep that creation soft, pliable, ready to be shaped into anything. My prayer is that I will rely on those baptismal waters to keep my heart ready for God’s plans. I can rest, knowing that my Creator is continuing to create a new heart in me, and I can leave the bottle of glue behind.

It feels like freedom. Frustration, insecurity, inhibitions: let go and set free. It bubbles up and bursts out into the world. It’s a release.

It’s beautiful, most of the time.  

I remember days in Jr. High thinking that laughter wasn’t a joyous event. It was an insult being spoken behind my back. It was confirmation that I didn’t fit in. It was evidence that I didn’t do something well. Then laughter bubbled from me, not the overflow of a happy heart, but a hardening of myself against careless words and hurtful intentions.

Laughter has a dark side.

But I seriously love to make people laugh. I love laughing with people. I would totally prefer to go see a comedian perform than go to a play. I even did a stand-up comedy workshop for a few years and I got to do some very mediocre five minute sets.

This is where it gets tricky for me. I find walking the line of laughter that brings joy and laughter that hurts to be a tough balance. I want to bring laughter that is life-giving, that is up-lifting and brings joy; the kind of laughter between friends when there was no punchline.

I think about the story of Abraham and Sarah (Genesis 18  and 21). They were old, past normal childbearing years. Way past. They had accepted with great sadness that they would not have a child. God sent visitors to speak with Abraham and they announced that they would return the following year and Sarah would have a child. When she overheard them speaking, she laughed.

I imagine this was not a bubbling up of joy in her heart kind of laugh. It was a scoffing, sarcastic laugh. It was a laughter that would choke out potential hope. She was adding a layer of armor to prepare for more disappointment. I know that laugh.

God is faithful and keeps His promises. She became pregnant, and gave birth to a son. They named him Isaac, which means he laughs. After he was born Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” I love that this story began with laughter and ended with laughter, but they are so different. Sarcasm and bitterness have been stripped away. She is grateful, thankful, and awed by the gift that God has bestowed upon her. She looks at her little boy and can do nothing else but laugh. Joy bubbles over. Also, it’s kind of funny. Abraham was a hundred years old when Isaac was born. Sarah was laughing at the crazy way God gives gifts. “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.” She is seeing how wild and strange her story is, and she laughs. This kind of laugh comes from the heart. She stands in amazement of God and his goodness.

I like being funny. I love making people laugh. I want to share hope. I want to share the laughter that bubbles up in my heart because I know that God’s promises are good. I want to notice the crazy ways that God’s plan is unfolding and I want to laugh. I want to tell stories about life that are hilarious, not at the expense of others, but by noticing the beautiful, wild and strange ways that God’s story comes together.


Our mouths were filled with laughter,
       our tongues with songs of joy.
Then it was said among the nations,
     “The Lord has done great things for them.”
The Lord has done great things for us,
        and we are filled with joy.
                                                                                                              Psalm 126:2-3