Tell Me a Funny Story

“Tell me a funny story,” Mary asked. “The craziest things happen to you.”

“Okay.” I launched into a story about the rascal rabbit that lived in my backyard. “He eats all my tulips. He waits until they bloom and chews off the petals, before I can admire them. Last week, I took my life in my hands. I ran outside in my flip-flops and yelled at him as he munched. I chased him away and wondered if he understood my anger. When I turned, my neighbors stared at me in horror, as if I’d lost my mind.”

Mary cackled at the thought of my neighbors witnessing my tirade at a helpless bunny. 

“I only had one tulip left, a purple one. It stood in place for two days, and I gloated thinking the thief was gone for good. Then I walked outside. The back of the tulip was gone! He’d gnawed off everything except the part that faced my kitchen window. That critter knows exactly what he did! Bugs Bunny has nothing on him.”

Mary laughed so hard, tears flowed down her cheeks. I hooted with her while enjoying the moment. One of my favorite things was making her laugh. I visited her for years in the skilled nursing facility where she lived. Her small room resembled a field filled with flowers and butterflies. Pictures of them covered the walls. 

The pastor had asked me to visit her because she had no children and her husband had passed. I found her to be a woman of deep faith. One time, she shared her near-death experience with me.

“There’s no one else I can share this with, Sue. But I know you’ll understand.” Her story reminded me of others that I’d heard: following the light into the presence of one that she knew to be Jesus because of the overwhelming love and peace. He sent her back, because she still had more to do. “I’ll never fear dying again,” Mary told me. “I live this life to the fullest, and why not? I know what eternity holds.”

I did my best to visit her every month, knowing she’d ask me to tell her a funny story. I saved them up. Every visit my goal was to make Mary, at least, chuckle. Sometimes, we guffawed loud enough that other residents and employees would stop in to join the fun.

One day, I popped in and searched for Mary. She and her wheelchair weren’t in her room. Usually, she roamed the nursing home. I checked the dining room, activities room, the beauty salon, and the chapel. Perhaps she had a doctor’s appointment. I asked at the nurse’s station. 

“Where’s Mary? I can’t find her.”

The nurse called to an aide, “Help this lady find Mary.”

The aide turned to other employees, “Where’s Mary? We can’t find her.” 

The next thing I knew, everyone began looking for Mary. People rushed around, calling her name. Even the other residents checked rooms. “I haven’t seen her lately. Where is she?”

A couple of aides looked outside, but she wasn’t there. The action was so comical, I planned to tell Mary about the trouble she’d caused when we found her.

I stood there for what seemed ten minutes. Finally, the director came and, in front of everyone, informed me that Mary had gone home to heaven. 

Shock covered the faces around me. The director blushed because she hadn’t broken the news to the staff yet. My emotions welled up, but I tamped them down.

I ran for my car, got in, and locked the doors. I cried, snorted, and wanted to laugh. Conflict waged war in my heart, so I prayed.

“Lord, I know all of heaven is laughing at me right now, especially you and Mary. Give her a hug for me. Thank you, that right now even though I miss her, I want to laugh.” 

 Should I cry because I couldn’t visit with Mary anymore?  Or should I laugh so hard I’d wet my pants because Jesus and Mary just pulled the biggest practical joke there ever was on me? Who walks into a facility and sets it into utter chaos just by asking where a resident is? I tried to be sad and couldn’t.

Thank God for Mary. She taught me so much.

Susan Boltz

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

(1 Corinthians 15:57 NKJV)