For quite some time now, it seems I have been writing about this In The Fire experience. So much so that people might think that I am a pyromaniac / fire-setter (a person with an unhealthy and dangerous affinity to and liking for fire). Trust me, that is a “no”, I didn’t ask for nor did I want this. Or perhaps you might think of me like the man in the bible who year after year kept waiting at the pool of Bethesda for just the right circumstances to be healed but remained in his broken condition due of lack of his own volition, (personal energy, effort, or strength), until Jesus lit a fire under him, (hahaha what a pun). And “no” I’m not him either. And for anybody who thinks that playing about Jesus and the bible ain’t funny, I beg to differ because in this regard I bet that even Jesus himself would laugh at least a little. Anyway, all that to say, that this story telling has been a while, 4 months to be exact and it is time for it to be soon over.

However, before I conclude this series, I felt compelled to talk about the Love and Laughter I have had while in this fire. If I had not loved and been loved and if I had not had many occasions and opportunity to laugh, I would possibly have lost my mind, my faith, my heart, and my courage. Misery and pain without a reason for laughter and the experience of love is a terrible and horrific thing to contend with. Now, I love the sound of my laughter and it generally comes from a deep place founded in a great and many times twisted, sense of humor. So when I was inside of this blazing pain and fear inferno and found occasion to laugh, I just let it ring.

It was also during this time that my son’s love was so dutiful, and grave, and serious, and present. I knew that he was more worried about me than he would say or try to show. But he was on it 100% in terms of my care. And I couldn’t have asked for nor been given a more genuine or definitive demonstration of love. Everyday he was on my phone checking in multiple times and made sure that I had everything that I needed. Consistently bringing me food from the high end of the menu that was so delicious, I couldn’t wait to have a conversation about it. And the fruit that he picked out for me was always so right, ripe, and sweet. It was almost as if he grew it, picked, peeled, sliced, and packaged it himself directly from the love store. And I knew he had to be exhausted between me, his family, job, and ministerial duties, but he never complained or wavered, and always prioritized me and my needs. Truly love at its best.

And adding more cool to the flame, not a day went by when I didn’t hear from family, family/friends, friends, saints and sinners, or just nice people, checking in, letting me know they were praying for me, offering encouragement, and making me laugh. Some came and helped me clean, brought food, cooked, washed my hair, and provided me with good old-fashioned company and conversation. And in spite of the circumstances of my condition, every act of love, kindness and opportunity for laughter and joy felt good, right in the center of my spirit and heart. But I was really tickled when people who had no intention or actual transportation, but in their zeal to make me feel good and as a way to convey their love would offer to come by and help me with anything I needed. To them I would just say “thank you” and snicker.

I remember one day or perhaps the day when, for lack of a better way of saying it, I believe my spirit wanted me and my son to know that healing was in the forecast. In the midst of conversation and him doing his due diligence, I said to him, “look at me. I’m laid up here like a two dollar crack ho”. And I fell out laughing. He didn’t laugh or think it was funny and looked at me with an expression of incredulousness as if to say, “how could you and why would you even say something like that?”. And that made me laugh even harder. Clearly he couldn’t get his mind or imagination around that depiction associated with his mother, who at that moment didn’t give a damn and had nothing better or more entertaining to say about her situation. But that breakthrough let me know that I was still in there. And that was an indication that although things were looking bleak, healing was on the horizon.

And while my son was coming and going and noting the numerous empty Poland Spring water bottles lined up around my chamber of affliction and being visibly baffled by the enormity of what I was consuming, as he asked in all seriousness, “what are you doing with all of that water?”, I simply giggled. But even I didn’t know then that I was dousing my internal flames while feeding and fueling my survival so that I could emerge from the fire. What I did know, however was that I couldn’t get enough water in me. An unintentional yet purposeful act of self love as I watched ‘The Upshaws’, a raunchy good late-night comedy that sometimes borders on the edge of being inappropriate. And I laughed loud and hard.

I knew I was getting better when the top of the food chain food and special requests stopped coming as frequently. Nevertheless, I continued to eat extremely well and was still catered to quite nicely. And while I was receiving stellar personal care from my love bank of family, (the Simmons and Jones clans), sons and daughters, brothers, sisters, and cousins, nieces and nephews, (some connected by DNA and some not), friends, the best physical therapist in the world, and for the most part a great medical team, (though there was a slight hitch), I know that all of this was ultimately as a result of favor given by God in the form of humanity.

So, as I emerge from the fire, I do so loving hard and laughing hard, and loving harder and laughing harder. What a wonder divine to have found Love and Laughter In The Fire….!!!