She taught me to laugh more

These women were dear friends--not the kind I talked to everyday or saw on a regular basis--the kind that when we saw each other--time had stood still and nothing had changed. They were both beautiful in their own ways. And over the past few weeks I've sat alone in silence--my face washing in my own tears.

Death is never easy. And funerals--they are for remembering--honoring--reflection. And sometimes they are for self-reflection--hearing questions that penetrate deeply--the heart and the soul.

And yesterday as I sat in an overflowing chapel, my friend's casket upfront and center--the man of God asked this question, concerning my friend of 50-plus years, "How did she affect your life?"

Oh my goodness. I thought. Everything that is good and righteous and fun and hard and I could go on here....And as I pondered more on this question late in the evening, remembering her along with my other dear friend--they both taught me--shared with me and others--the joy of laughter.

And laugh, we did.

Last year I was blessed to take a three-part series writer's workshop called, "Write Now" with a few other women online. It was a different kind of workshop--none like I had ever encountered. Intimidating to say the least, some of the women were published writers--the instructor, an awarding winning author.

The workshop consisted of writing prompts and us participants were put on this strict 10-minute timer to write our stories. And then we had to read our stories to the group. Out loud! Ugh!

Now, it takes a slow minute, hour--days--sometimes years for me to get my thoughts on paper. Our writing prompts on this one particular day--we were shown a photo--but only part of the photo and each time we had to write a story about what we saw. The first photo prompt--what I assumed an older lady and all we could see was from her waist down. She was wearing thick black orthopedic shoes, a hot pink skirt, her stockings (pantyhose) were sagging and she was carrying a brown purse, and a flowered closed umbrella.

The sagging pantyhose--that was the spark for my story.

I'll called this piece, "Southern Church Ladies" (disclaimer: based on a not-so-true story. Only one detail--further explained below and the fact that I love "Southern Church Ladies")

"Oh my goodness, Bea, do you see Estelle this morning?" Claudine says as she and Bea are waiting in line outside the church doors--waiting to greet their pastor. "She's carrying her umbrella as if the clouds are going to open on this sunny spring Sabbath. And her stockings sagging--have we never shared with her the power of lotion--taking the time to lather and soak the stuff into the divots and crevices of old age before sliding on our stockings? We must tell her after service!

"And her purse! That's the same one she carried last fall and winter! Heavens, she's so radiant in her hot pink. But that purse and those sagging stockings. Remind me to ask her if she has a spring purse."

"Well hello Miss Estelle," the pastor says as he stands at the door of the church greeting his church family. "Your smile always brightens my morning, like the song bird's praise. And your pearls, they are glowing. You look especially lovely in your hot pink suit. Is today a special occasion?"

"Happy Lord's Day Preacher," Estelle smiles, careful not to smudge her red painted lips. "Well today I feel pretty, a tad more sassy. You know I can be that way at times.

"Preacher, let me tell you what happened this week. My daughter had the nerve to tell me I couldn't drive anymore! She's taking my keys, she said! Like she's the parent now! She can take them alright, but what she don't know is I have an extra key hidden!"

"Now Estelle," the preacher says patting her hand while holding back his laughter, "You might want to listen to your daughter. I'm sure she will drive you anywhere you want to go."

"I have to get to my pew now, Preacher--don't want any visitors to come and take my spot, you know. One more thing though. Can you do me a favor? Can you preach a little longer today? You know, a little longer than your usual 30 minutes. That irritates Claudine a little!" And Estelle, she giggles like a 14-year old teenager going on 92.

The spark for my story--the sagging stockings--I can remember watching my grandmother get ready for church and she would put a thick coat of lotion on her legs. Then she would pull on her stockings--one leg at a time and make this tight roll at the top under her dress. And those stockings, they never moved--never sagged. I don't recall ever watching her take the stockings off--but I do remember the red mark they left on her thigh.

There will still be many days when I mourn, when I cry. When the missing of you will be hard to carry. But I will remember how you taught me and so many others the happiness in laughter, the brightness of a smile. I'll hold close our memories together and remember your testimonies that spoke so loud--trusting in the Good Lord's promise of a better tomorrow. And I will imagine you both in heaven--laughing--happy with our Savior, with loved ones and children, enjoying the beauty of yellow roses and flowers, and wet nose kisses from as many dogs as your laps can hold.

And I promise I will remember to laugh as often as I can. For it will remind me of you.

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

Proverbs 17:22

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

Ecclesiastes 3:4

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

Revelation 21:4