The Roots of Joy

I posted this on Facebook: “I asked a salesman, ‘May I try on that shirt in the display window?’ He said, ‘No, you’ll try it on in the changing room like everyone else.’” Someone asked, “Where did you get your sense of humour? If I pay good money may I have it?”

Unfortunately, a sense of humour is not for sale. Like poverty and baldness, a sense of humour is hereditary—you get it from your kids. And from your parents too. My dad could get serious at times, like the day I painted his nails while he was napping, but despite a horrific childhood, Dad had a vibrant faith in Christ, which provided a solid launching pad for a good belly laugh. He thought Billy Sunday was right when he said, “If you have no joy, there’s a leak in your Christianity somewhere.”

Once I invited the new kid on the block to my house, hoping to impress him. We were building a tiny log cabin on the living room floor when suddenly he stopped and dropped a block of wood on my thumb. “Ouch!” I said, and looking up, found my friend’s mouth wide open, his lower lip resting on his sneakers. He was looking at my father.

Dad still had hair in those days, but it grew mostly on the hindmost parts of his head, and so he combed it over the top. For some reason he had brushed it back for my new friend, crossed his eyes, and lowered his false teeth, causing him to look like he was auditioning for the role of Larry in an upcoming Three Stooges film.

I’m sure my friend was thinking: Help! Aliens! Make a run for it.

He drew back, distant and afraid. As he said goodbye that day, I suspected it would be his final visit to the Callaway house. I was wrong. The next day he was back for more. While playing at his house, I discovered why. Laughter was located under “L” in the dictionary there, but seldom displayed elsewhere. His father was hard, unyielding, and relentless. And I remember thinking to myself: At this house, God frowns.

Years later I received a letter from my friend. “I no longer believe in God,” he admitted. “Haven’t for years.” Now, I’m not naïve enough to think his sole reason for turning his back on God was that his father’s funnybone was in a cast. But sometimes I wonder. Psalm 16:11(NIV) says, “you will fill me with joy in your presence.” Certainly, our lives should reflect it.

Yes, the aches and pains of life bring ample frowns, but this must not be our permanent condition. Those who focus on redemption and remember they are righteous in God’s sight, don’t have to go far to choose joy.

I am forever grateful for parents who modeled joy in the good times and bad. Perhaps that’s why I knelt by my bed as a child and asked Jesus to be the biggest part of my life. I had heard the message of a Saviour who loved me to death from two people I had every reason to believe. My dad. And a mom who felt that the best thing she could do in British Columbia after discovering she had left her false teeth beneath a picnic table in Washington, was to laugh.