My Sister Can Laugh Louder Than Your Sister Can

Growing up with two sisters, my life was enriched in immeasurable ways. Childhood was sweeter, the teenage years more bearable, and as an adult, their unconditional love has been a source of untold strength. No matter what is going on in my world, they are there beside me, cheering me on, lifting me up or offering a shoulder to cry on.

They've also been my laughing buddies through the years. If nobody else finds it funny, I know my sisters will.

Early on, people learned that if the Allen sisters got tickled, trying to snap them into seriousness was a total waste of time—even in church, or at funerals.

Once, while singing for a congregation where Daddy was the guest speaker, something went awry during our rendition (I don't recall exactly what) and Elaine started snickering in her signature way. Of course, Dayle and I soon followed suit, and the longer we sang, the more we snickered, and the more we snickered, the less we sang.

Somewhere around the second stanza, Daddy piped up from behind us in his straightforward style and said, "Girls, either sing or sit down." We quickly became sober and finished the song.

I remember Dayle and I singing at a funeral many moons ago. The service was at the funeral home, and their organ had, undoubtedly, come off the ark. To make matters more unorthodox, it was situated in a little curtained alcove, completely hidden from the crowd.

After Dayle took a brief inventory of Noah's cargo, we huddled around the little microphone and commenced singing "The Unclouded Day," (a song we definitely could've used a bit more practice on).

Within a few bars, we realized the organ was more out of tune than we were, and while I snickered, Dayle sang, and while she snickered, I sang, but soon we were both snickering and nobody sang, and that's when "The Unclouded Day" became one clouded royal mess.

Thankfully, the audience couldn't see that our inability to sing had nothing to do with us mourning the dead.

 

Of course, life hasn't been one endless heehaw for my sisters and me—we've each suffered personal loss, deep grief and disappointment. But through the tears, the fears and the years, the heaviness in our hearts has never conquered the laughter in our souls. For that, I'm truly grateful.

 Milton Berle once said, "Laughter is an instant vacation." I don't know about you, but I love that description, and I'm pretty sure that my sisters and I "vacation" more than anybody on the planet. And we don't just vacation often, understand, we vacation hard. If you've never heard us cackling like three intoxicated hens, you really have no idea. ♦

"A merry heart doeth good, like a medicine." Proverbs 17:22

Mother's Indelible Marks

Sunday is Mother's birthday. She is the wisest woman I know, and my respect and love for her is immense. The following article appeared in The Dallas Morning News on March 28, 1999, as Women's History Month came to an end.

Eleven years later, Mother continues making her mark on those around her. She's a steadfast source of strength in my life, and I'm proud to be her daughter.

Happy birthday, dear mother of mine. I love you more than life. ♦

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Pondering Life and Love

It’s a cold, rainy, lovers-kind-of-night in the neighborhood. As a roaring fire crackles in the fireplace, I relax in my comfy chair, sip apple cider and ponder my life.

Seven years post-divorce and still single. Will I ever marry again? Some days I hope so; other days, not so much. Being alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely. I strive to be content.

Still, there are days of restlessness, wanting someone to love and be loved by. Someone to share life’s ups and downs, twists and turns, chaos and calm.

Just yesterday, while browsing the antique mall, I watched as couples walked past, holding hands, sharing thoughts about this, that or the other. Part of me wanted what they had—common interests; common dreams; common goals.

But did I want it badly enough?

Even when skies are blue, marriage is hard. For sure, mine was no exception. In our 20 years of togetherness, my husband and I were strangers in many ways—just making do and going through the motions. We had good times, of course, but our marriage was a struggle early on.

For sure, I wouldn't want another 20 years of making do and going through the motions. If I ever marry again, I want a deep relationship of mutual passions, where souls are exposed, desires are fulfilled and real love is made. A relationship that builds up and binds together. A love that seeks to serve—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death does part us.

Above all else, I want a husband who understands that, as Christ loved the church to transform her into a "glorious bride," a husband’s unconditional love is a transforming gift to his bride, as well. It, alone, empowers her to surrender her very being without constraint. To feel desirable, despite her weaknesses and flaws. To let go of her heart, knowing it will be safe in her husband's strong, yet gentle, hands. Thus, his gift to her becomes her gift to him. She is free to love with an open, uninhibited, crazy kind of love.

Oh, it sounds really good, and it seems really simple. But I’m not sure that such love can even be found nowadays. And even if it can be, I don’t know if I’ve got the patience, the desire or the wits to look. So much baggage to sort through anymore. Multiple marriages. Multiple divorces. Children in multiple states. A red flag here. A red flag there. Here a flag. There a flag. Everywhere a red flag.

I know good marriages can come after divorce—I've seen some—but is it any wonder that divorce wasn't God's plan from the beginning? That marriage was meant to be a covenant between one man and one woman...until death? Divorce breaks things, and it leaves disconnected souls shuffling back and forth, to and fro, hoping to somehow, someday, someway, make a connection. Even to the strongest of hearts, it's disheartening at best.

And so, despite the cold, rainy lovers-kind-of-night in the neighborhood, I relax in my comfy chair, sip my cider and watch the fire alone. Will I ever marry again? Some days I hope so; other days, not so much. ♦
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