A good hearty belly laugh is only annoying if it happens in inappropriate places. When we were kids, it always happened in church. My sister and I didn’t dare even glance at each other when the mezzo-soprano in the choir started singing. There was something about her voice that made us listen but we found her inflection hysterical. If we even saw one anothers faces in our peripheral vision, it was all over – we’d lose control and laugh so hard we’d have tears running down our cheeks. Then our little brothers got in on the action.
Somehow our parents always knew exactly what started it and struggled to keep their own joy of hearing us twins laughing together in check and in cheek. Someone had to be the adults and keep order in the family. Week after week we vowed to our parents that it would never happen again, but oh, how we were telling a story.
Since I have been taught that God is love, I knew I’d be forgiven and not be struck down by the devil. Our scolding often came from someone else who you’ll learn more about in my memoir. Whenever she got word of our childish antics, her words had a more powerful effect than anything our parents could have ever uttered.
“Lord a Mercy,” she’d say “What is you? A bunch a heathens, laughin’ in da Lord’s house?” Have you ever noticed how carefully one listens to someone who is speaking a different dialect?
“It was the funny lady in the choir’s fault,” my sister and I’d say, taking no responsibility for our inability to control ourselves. After all, we were just children.
That’s another family story that wasn’t included in my memoir from All Things Fulfilling. This blog is brought to you by www.CornestoneFulfillmentService.com.