Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a great deal of telling anyway. They stayed in that good house, fourteen days at least, and they found it hard to leave. Bilbo would have gladly have stopped there for ever and ever—even supposing a wish would have taken him right back to his hobbit-hole without trouble. Yet there is little to tell about their stay.

So wrote Tolkien of Bilbo and the dwarves stay in Rivendell in the third chapter of The Hobbit, which I have recently begun reading to my daughter, Éowyn. For the past two weeks, my family and I were able to take a vacation to my wife’s homeland, Colombia, and we inwardly hoped for an experience rather like Bilbo’s in Rivendell. But the Lord gave us something far better. He gave us stories and gave us (and made us) jokes.

You see, though the trip was filled with more blessings than we could possibly count, it also provided many moments that were grumble-fodder in the moment but have already made for laugh-filled retellings in celebration of God’s providence.

To give just a few of those particular highlights:

We began the trip with our three-year-old stabbing my wife in the eye with a fork. Thankfully, she wears glasses because they made the difference between three bleeding punctures in her eyelid and becoming a cyclops.

Then there was a nationwide trucker strike that blocked the roads into all the major cities and that forced us to change much of our plans and almost kept us from seeing my wife’s grandmother, which was the biggest reason for the trip. Thankfully, we did still make it to Bogota, and we did get to see Tiff’s grandmother. But while in Bogota, the family who graciously hosted all five of us in their compact apartment lost electricity one day and water the next.

Then on our way to visit another region, our van broke down on the side of the road, where we had to wait with hungry, tired, and therefore screaming kids for a couple of hours, at night, for another ride.

We also met our vomit quota for the trip. Of course, that could almost go without saying since we were traveling with little kids, but in a slight twisting of the plot, only one of the girls made a contribution to that unpleasant and unwanted goal. But two of the three kids did do flying faceplants upon sudden breaking buses. So, I suppose it evens out.  

The adventure home was also a mess. After standing in lines for nearly three hours, we passed security and ran to catch our flight, which was in the gate at the very end of the airport (of course!). In the sprint, our three-year-old fell, and I stepped on her fingers. And this was after our eldest accidentally smacked her in the eye while we were waiting in line. And after all that, we waited an hour on the plane for additional fuel and finally took off around midnight, which is not necessarily ideal for flying with three small children.

And our arrival home has been the very definition of hitting the ground running. We touched back down into the States at around 6 am on Friday with meetings during the day to attend to and broken air conditioning in the house (a quick sidenote for any unfamiliar with southern weather: September is fully a part of summer; for example, this very weekend was in the upper 90s). A funeral service for a dearly beloved church member was Saturday morning. Preaching today (Sunday). And my first day as a K-2 teacher for our newly founded classical academy is tomorrow (Monday).

In his book Death by Living, N. D. Wilson rightly writes:

When faced with unpleasantness (trouble) there are only two ultimate responses (with many variations). On the one hand, “The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” On the other, “Curse God and die.” Variations on the latter can include whining, moping, self-pity, apathy, or rage. Variations of the former can include laughter, song, retellings, and an energetic attack of obstacles.

Early on in our trip, we stayed with a family of a similar age and mind. Our final night with them we stayed up until three in the morning sharing those kind of stories, ones that were very unpleasant in the moment but wonderful to laugh about with friends later. Those swift passing hours of laughing at old frustrations helped to keep the rest of trip in perspective for us and guarded us from imitating the grumbling Israelites too closely.

Confession: I say too closely because a handful of grumbles did rise from my heart and exit my lips. But by God’s grace, repentance and laughter soon followed.

Of course, the Scriptures teach us that there is most certainly a place for lamentation before the Lord in response to tragedy, but inconveniences and setbacks are generally not the makings of tragedies but comedies. Indeed, the element of the unexpected is the key to a good joke but also to many of life’s frustrations. Quite often, the happy ending is the only way to differentiate between a comedy or a tragedy. Had my wife actually lost her eye that would have been cause for godly grief, but since she did not, why not laugh about it? Under the providence of God, it makes for a good story.

To quote Wilson again:

If God gives you (or makes you) a joke, what are you meant to do in response? (Receive it. Laugh.)

If God gives you an obstacle, what are you meant to do in response? (Receive it. Climb it. Then laugh.)

If God gives you more profound hardship, what are you meant to do in response? (Receive it. Climb it. Then laugh. Exhibit A: His Son.)