I Am Lifted Up

Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.

—Luke 6:21

He was five months old and quite possibly the most precious, cheek-kissable baby I’d ever seen.

My friend had brought him with her to our conference, attached as he was to regular three-hour feedings. From the moment I saw his cherubic face, I felt the impulse to make him laugh. Seriously, is there anything more yummy than baby laughter? As a mama of teenagers and grade-schoolers, I hadn’t heard any of that goodness for far too long.

Thus began my descent into shameless grown-up theatrics. Awkward dancing. Gawking smiles. Strawberries, baby talk, and spit bubbles.

You name it, I tried it. A valiant effort to spark a giggle. However, the cherub would not give in to a grin. He extended his lower lip far enough to provide a table for dinner and then burst into a gut-wrenching cry.

I tried not to take it personally, despite the fact that moments before, his mama had declared him the happiest of her four babies. Really. Happiest baby award aside, he wasn’t the least bit impressed with me. Clearly I was out of my league.

“Oh, it’s not you,” she reassured me. “He needs a new diaper.”

Well, now. That would make even the happiest of us cranky.

But moments later, freshly diapered, he remained as cranky as before. He needed a nap, his mom said. I tried bouncing and rocking and walking him to no avail. He fought against his need for sleep. Until his mom came near. Lifting him from his carrier and high above her head, she offered soothing words and her smiling, reassuring face. Up and down, up and down, she lifted him into the air. And just that fast, her sweet, tired boy started to smile. And then giggle. And finally, outright laugh.

Hallelujah! His laughter lit my world. And his.

A few days ago, I sat with a close friend who’s enduring unthinkable loss. The details don’t matter; most of us understand without explanation the agony of losing something precious. As we sat only feet apart, I asked her what she needed most. Through tears, she listed things like prayer and companionship, which I expected. And gladly offered. But she needed something more.

“I need to laugh. It’s been so long since I’ve done that.”

Yes, of course. That made perfect sense. I’ve known that need myself.

“There is a time for everything,” Solomon said. “A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:1, 4).

The times of weeping and laughing often go together, don’t they?

As a woman who has struggled too long with significant illness, I know about long seasons of laughterless weeping. Tears that won’t stop no matter your efforts to hold them back. The lamentation of a broken heart makes laughter appear too far out of reach. I too have known seasons when I’d forgotten what laughter feels like.

Until, somehow, God lifted me from my circumstances and up into the air. Smiling and reassuring, He offered a moment of relief, laughter in my tears.

My children dressing the dog in Superman underwear.

My husband’s dry and well-timed quips.

Our chaotic ordinary life that often reads like a comedy script.

God has a knack for delivering laughter when I least expect it. And many times He delivers it in the middle of my bad mood. It doesn’t last forever, but it’s long enough for a little relief.

More than a promise of earthly levity, I believe Jesus’ words in Luke 6 are actually about a greater joy yet to come. Like we know our earthly tears, we will know the kind of laughter that refuses to be stifled. The temporary laughter of this life is merely a hint of the perfected joy yet to come. Matthew Henry says it this way: “They that now sorrow after a godly sort are treasuring up comforts for themselves, or, rather, God is treasuring up comforts for them; and the day is coming when their mouth shall be filled with laughing and their lips with rejoicing, Job 8:21.”*

The laughter of God is far more about what is to come than what is. The real joy, I know, is being stored up for us in heaven, in an eternal destination absent tears and filled with a deluge of laughter we won’t be able to contain. I can’t wait, can you?

Until then, you and I will often sit a few feet from friends and exchange stories that cause us both to weep. Even so, remember: “When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (Luke 21:28).

I was to discover, however, that when I took my eyes off the circumstances that were overwhelming me, over which I had no control, and looked up, my Lord was there, standing on the parapet of heaven looking down. Deep in my heart He whispered, “I’m here. Even when you don’t see Me, I’m here. Never for a moment are you out of My sight.”

—DARLENE DEIBLER ROSE, EVIDENCE NOT SEEN