Legacy of Laughter, by Megan

Legacy of Laughter

"LAUGHTER has something in it in common with the ancient winds of faith and inspiration; it unfreezes pride and unwinds secrecy; it makes men forget themselves in the presence of something greater than themselves; something (as the common phrase goes about a joke) that they cannot resist." (G.K. Chesterton, The Common Man)  

Normally I can’t stand perfection in my friends, but with Ruby I make an exception.  We have shared nearly two decades of friendship and, try as I might to identify the slightest flaw in her character, she won’t budge from her pedestal.  Providence brought us together when I was a newlywed.  Back when my stylish clothes still fit and before, as my eight year old observed, “I got the job of babysitting for life.” When I first met this vivacious  woman, I longed for her company and the energy she exuded.  She convinced me of the dignity of my calling as a wife and mother.  Whenever I doubted my worth, Ruby reminded me that the value of my cooking, housekeeping, and homeschooling of our children shouldn’t be underestimated.  After sharing a cup of tea with this dear mentor, I returned to my most tedious household chores with eager hands…

A tear today is an investment in a laugh tomorrow (Jack Hyles).

Marriage and motherhood have been far from what I had envisioned.  Countless times I have called Ruby crying and have hung up the phone laughing.  Ruby has a knack for finding the humor in the most dire situations. She has encouraged me to jot down my kids’ most ludicrous quotes and family mishaps, telling me that   should write a book someday. I find a mysterious release in capturing these memories on paper.  To borrow a metaphor from my favorite author, C.S. Lewis, I suspect that I might be “with book as a woman is with child.”  These scribblings are the gestational stage of my living, breathing story.  A story which is being intricately and secretly woven by the Author who wrote every one of my days in His book before one of them came to be.  Incredibly, the chapters of my life which have felt most disappointing have already been sweetened by time and perspective as I have learned to rest more securely in God’s Providence.

Anything that makes me need God is a blessing—anything. You think of the things in your life right now that make you need God. I’ve got my list; you’ve got your list. I want you to look at that list and remind yourself that everything on that list is, in fact, a blessing. (Nancy Leigh DeMoss)

  I was initiated into motherhood with the gift of a wildly precocious daughter who thought nothing of slapping her Sunday school teacher, feeding bees to our baby, following her daddy to work through the snowy street in her sleepers, and pulling the fire alarms at our apartment.  She was followed by a series of unpredictable little brothers who had a flair for wall graffiti and a propensity toward destruction.  After breaking our dishes and furniture,  they proceeded to crack open their heads, dislocate elbows, chip their teeth, and lodge foreign objects in their feet.  It was assumed that our family vacations would culminate in a trip to urgent care. 

Then there were our vehicles.  After our first car was crushed by a falling tree, we went through a series of clunkers which were never large enough to accommodate our growing family.  Each day dawned with my husband crawling under his Escort to bang on the gas tank and pray that he would make it to work.  Our passengers were required to hold their door shut with a neck tie or squeeze into an inverted garbage can after an especially productive trip to Walmart.  (Somehow I think it’s no coincidence that, on the very afternoon I was typing this account, we lost the door to our family car through a fluke accident in the carport.  Some things never change…). 

The stories of our first several homes were just as dismal.  After enduring a series of challenging apartments with disruptive neighbors, rats, and faulty furnaces, we set out to purchase our own “starter home.”  Perhaps it was a bad omen when our oldest son put his foot through the floor of the first house we considered.  Setting aside a few misgivings, we made an offer on our “dream home” – a cozy ranch which seemed just right for our family of five. 

Ten years have passed, our family has doubled in size, and we are still living in this house which my husband has dubbed “an unqualified disaster.”  Since we moved in , every appliance has quit on us, our plumbing has leaked, the bathroom floor has rotted out, our roof and chimneys have failed, our furnace has died, our basement has repeatedly flooded, and we have evicted several litters of mice.  Today we are bursting at the seams with twin babies sleeping in our living room, wondering how we’ll pack our six boys into a small bedroom or ever get ready for church on time with a single bathroom. 

Any idiot can face a crisis - It's Day to Day Living That Wears You Out

(Anton Chekhov)

I started this morning with a guilty glance at the clock.  It was 8:30 on a school day and my oldest kids were still in bed.  I had spent half the night tandem nursing the twins, giving nebulizer treatments, and cleaning up the aftermath of a stomach bug.  Like Ruby said, “a mother’s lamp does not go out at night.”  I was too weary for words.  My six year old finally emerged in a dirty, clashing outfit, whining  about yesterday’s gum in her hair.  Then my ten year old casually informed me that the toilet was clogged and the three year old hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time.  Sometime during breakfast, the contractor showed up unannounced to tear off our front door.  Still in my leopard print pajamas, I greeted him with as much dignity as I could muster and told my healthy kids to bundle up and find a quieter place to do their schoolwork.  Strapping the twins into the Snugaroo, I poured a third cup of coffee and settled in to explain the mysteries of Predicate Adjectives.  No sooner had I cracked the book than I was interrupted by a series of frantic messengers…

“Mom, my history test went awful because I couldn’t think over Mr. Phil’s power tools and Shaila’s recorder!”

“Mom, Aidan snapped my ruler just because I hit him with an air soft BB.”

“Mom, Ethan’s looking for his crutches.”

“Mom, the printer’s jammed, and Dad forgot to correct my Physics test.”

“Mom, the laptop fell off the top bunk, and now the screen looks funny.”

“Mom, the dog’s tangled up in her line again!"

  As the volume and intensity in my kitchen increased, I braced myself for news that,” “The fire of God just fell from heaven and burned up the sheep and the servants.” I shoved my chicken back in the freezer, realizing that we’d be eating frozen pizza again.  I had a fleeting vision of Ruby getting up before dawn to prepare a new Pinterest recipe with foreign spices I’d never heard of.  She was probably doubling it to deliver to a friend whose husband was out of work.  She’d serve warm bread and canned vegetables from last summer’s garden.  Ruby had a green thumb and assured me that I could grow lettuce on my deck if I just took the time to water it.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had cooked for another family.  My grocery trips were executed in fight or flight mode as I struggled to read my own list.  Each time I handed my husband the receipt, I would cringe, remembering that I’d forgotten my coupons and bribed my kids through the check out with fast food.

  After dumping the dregs of my cold coffee, paying the contractor, and settling the kids with their independent work, I indulged in a second cinnamon roll and idly pulled up Facebook.  I’m not sure why I ever think it will make me feel better to scroll through my friends’ statuses.  My circumstances provided a pathetic contrast to their air-brushed selfies taken on their latest vacations or the idyllic scenes of gracious homes and compliant children.  My finger hovered over the keys, relishing my power.  With a single click I could unfriend any one of them.  Ruby didn’t have time for social media and preferred the authenticity of face-to-face friendships.  Between church ministry and her thriving Etsy business, her days were overflowing with productivity.  She had just finished another quilt and promised to teach me to sew if I ever graduated from the Nifty Knitter. 

 I was rudely jolted from my reverie by the loud announcement, “Mooom, it’s snowing!  Where are my boots?”  Sighing wearily, I headed for the hand me down bins in the basement.  With a twinge of self-loathing, I remembered the coupon codes Ruby had sent me several weeks ago when I was still battling morning sickness. I had missed the sales, so my kids would have to fight with broken zippers and wriggle into last year’s boots.  I doubted that they would one day rise to call me blessed.

Laugh till you weep. Weep till there’s nothing left but to laugh at your weeping. In the end it’s all one. (Frederick Buechner)

Somehow I made it through the afternoon.  The babies were nursed and changed.  My older kids were taught.  Half a dozen loads of laundry were folded.  Doctor’s appointments were scheduled.  Meals were served, and my husband was greeted with a brave smile and a glass of the wine Ruby had given us for Christmas (Did I mention that she has a vineyard?).    I think it’s safe to assume that tonight will present its own challenges.  I will sleep with a flashlight to ensure that neither of my twins is double-fed. There will be wet beds to change and nightmares to calm.  Tomorrow my carefully laid plans will give way to the unscheduled needs of eight children.  I guess I can either wither in self-pity or embrace these challenges, resting in the assurance that this crazy story will come out right in the end.  I can laugh with Ruby at the days to come.