The Flog – The Fabry Log

It was the last thing I thought my friend would pray. I was in Denver at a convention. A man I had never met heard our story. He walked out with me and up an escalator, put his hand on my shoulder, and prayed. One of the things he prayed was, “Give them laughter.”

Laughter seems the furthest thing from my mind at times. We just bought a new kitchen table for $174, half price at World Market. We’ve been eating around a card table, so it’s a huge step up for us. However, the table has formaldehyde in it and a funky smell of some kind of third world lacquer that we can’t abide. It’s been outside for two days now. Still has the funky smell.

It’s stuff like this that steals my joy. And sick kids who have nosebleeds or can’t sleep or have migraines. In the midst of a difficult day, I walked into the kitchen. Andrea was helping Kaitlyn make “energy bars” without gluten or high fructose corn syrup. I spotted an egg on the counter and thought I would do my duty and put it in the fridge. I put it in the door and closed it, then thought better of it because someone might not know it’s there and then we’d have gnashing of teeth during the cleanup. So I opened the door again and bent over just as Andrea was coming by.

When the door is opened, no one gets by easily. But with me bending over, looking inside for the egg carton, trying to figure out if I can get one more egg in there, not even an ant could pass.

I sensed someone behind me. I knew it was Andrea, patiently waiting. I bent over a little more and began singing. I can’t recall the tune or even the words, except for one phrase at the end, “…get by my fat rear.” Only I didn’t say “rear.” I used the word we do not let our children say for that part of the anatomy. The donkey word. And I kind of danced back and forth in front of the fridge while I sang.

At the time, Andrea did not really react to the song. When I stood up, she moved past me with a hint of a smile. I kept singing, making up verses 2 and 3. Saying all manner of things that could not get past my fat rear.

The day wore on and we made it through dinner around the card table, looking longingly at the one outside. At 10:30 Andrea and I crawled into bed and after a few still moments I felt the air mattress shake. Sometimes in the night I can feel the same thing—and she is crying. I reached a hand over and said, “What’s wrong?”

She turned, her face red, her mouth turned up in that Kessel smile of hers. “I can’t get that song out of my head.” She giggled and chuckled and shook the bed some more. “It was an awful day, but that made me laugh.”

I read in Ecclesiastes today that there is a time for everything. “…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” And there is a time to block your wife in front of the fridge, a time to shake your fat rear, sing a silly song, and call it an answer to prayer.