I recently received a newsletter from Andy and Nancy with an update about their ministry to trafficked women who have been rescued and given a place to live at Freedoom Home, a house they built where rescued women can begin to find healing. Andy wrote, "Three weeks ago I was honored to do the water baptism for "Amy," one of the first girls at Freedom Home. Her life is so changed that it is hard to believe. Three long years battling for her life the entire way. But now she is free, full of joy and God's peace." People like Andy and Nancy are ministering to girls like "Amy" all over the world, making a one-on-one difference with the love of Christ. I so applaud them.
To help balance the heaviness of the topics I choose, I try to infuse humor whenever possible, because I honestly believe there's nothing we face that can't find relief in humor. My dad died very unexpectedly in 1980, at the age of 54. I was 28, and in no way ready to lose him. My sister and I had the difficult task of dealing with his belongings and moving all his possessions out of the house he'd lived in most of our lives. We spent several days there just after his death, sifting through his possessions. That included his desk, which was chock-full of personal correspondence. I found, among other things, a letter I'd written to him and my brothers when I was a 7-year-old girl in the Brownies. I had no idea my dad had held onto things like that.
So what does that have to do with humor? My brother-in-law Bob spent a night and a day with my sister and me at Dad's house, helping wherever he could. Of course, the three of us, unable to sleep, talked long into the night. My sister and I were so filled with grief. But my dad had this near-dead spider plant hanging in his living room, and I swear, every time Bob got anywhere near that plant he'd bang his head into it. He'd stand up, bang! He'd turn around, bang! It became so funny to us after the 3rd or 4th time, that we laughed until, well, we cried, but with tears of hilarity instead of the tears of grief that had overwhelmed us since we'd gotten the news of Dad's death. It was a while before I realized that Bob's encounters with that spider plant maybe weren't so random. That he was providing the comic relief we desperately needed. I can't think of him, ever, without remembering the kindness he showed by making us laugh when our hearts were breaking. By letting us know it was okay to laugh. Because we weren't so sure anymore.
Just as the Lord drew near to direct the setting of Unraveled, he drew near a few moments ago, interrupting the writing of this post, to confirm to my heart that I'm on the right path with my writing, my ministry. His validation came in the form of a phone call from an old, old friend who lives several hours away now, near San Diego. She had just that minute finished reading Unraveled and wanted to tell me, not just that she enjoyed it, but how much the story meant to her on a personal level, and why. It always means a lot to hear from a reader. But when you can almost see God nudge her with his elbow and whisper, "Go ahead, give her a call. Now's a good time," well, who couldn't use that kind of validation?
We love hearing from you. Tell us about how humor has helped you deal with a sad event, and how God has validated you in a personal way.