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Laughter in the Pews: Church Chuckles

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One of my readers kindly suggested I share a bit of comedy in this column to lift the spirits of folks back home. Some of the best laughs I know come from church and the honest wisdom of young’uns.

Take my nephew, for instance. A few years back he asked if he had a guardian angel.

“Sure you do,” I told him.

“Your guardian angel is always with you.”

“Does he eat with me?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Does he sleep with me?”

“Sure.”

“Well that must have been who kicked me out of bed last night,” he said.

Kids have a way of cutting straight to the point, and so do a lot of the old church stories that still make the rounds. Like the one an older fellow told me about where radio was invented:

“In the Garden of Eden,” he said.

“What?”

“God took Adam’s rib and made the first loudspeaker.”

Then there’s that little-known fact about Noah’s Ark. Seems there were three camels on board. The first was the camel many people swallow while straining at a gnat. The second was the camel whose back was broken by the last straw. And the third was the one that shall pass through the eye of a needle before a rich man enters the kingdom of Heaven.

Of course, prayer doesn’t always bring exactly what we expect. Farmer Jud and his wife Jeweldine, a childless couple, prayed long and hard for a baby. Their answer came in the form of triplets. When the preacher congratulated them on their answered prayer, Jud just shook his head and said, “Yep, but I never prayed for a bumper crop.

”Another woman, tired of searching for the right man, finally prayed, “Lord, I’m not asking for anything for myself, but please send Mother a son-in-law.”

And then there’s the young fellow who was asked by his prospective father-in-law, “Can you support my daughter in the manner she’s accustomed to?

”The boy thought for a second and answered, “She ain’t gonna move, is she?

”I’ve always heard that bread cast upon the waters returns to you. It may be true for bread, but I’ve noticed all the bread we keep sending overseas sure doesn’t come back the same way.

Laughter has always been important in our family, even though our people tend to be stoic by nature. That stoic streak runs strong in me too. Folks often ask why I don’t smile more. Sometimes I tell them, “I’m smiling on the inside.”

Because of that, the moments of real joy and laughter mean even more to me. May laughter fill your days, friends. After all, God must have a sense of humor—otherwise He would have never made someone quite like us, would He?

Catch more of Randall’s Comedy on Itunes in Comedy Down Home: https://music.apple.com/us/album/comedy-down-home/1733917822

Read his books also for an occasional laugh, check out our store.

Tilling the Past: Longing for the Land and Loved Ones

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For centuries, dedicated men and women have toiled to cultivate crops that sustain life, their labor enriched by nature’s gifts—fish from clear streams, game from dense forests, and wild greens, fruits, nuts, and berries. Fertile land, the backbone of survival, has always been a prize.

Before America’s founding, monarchs granted such land to loyal allies or passed it through noble families, with workers bound to the soil under new lords. Other systems existed, but control over prime land and water often defined power.

Today, that legacy lingers in the sprawling farms we pass on country roads. Driving through America’s heartland recently, I marveled at miles of farmland once alive with rows of corn, beans, tomatoes, okra, and squash, where cattle grazed and chickens scratched the earth. Now, many fields lie quiet, cut for hay or reduced to small gardens near farmhouses. Economic pressures—rising costs, market demands—have pushed families to grow just enough for themselves, no longer feeding neighbors or distant markets. Corporate farms churn out much of what stocks grocery shelves, their scale dwarfing the efforts of traditional farmers. Yet, resilient family farmers endure, raising cattle or crops with grit, their produce often fresher and more wholesome than heavily processed alternatives.

These farms pull me back to childhood summers, when fields burst with life. I can feel the heft of a tote sack as I tugged corn from the stalk, tassels dancing in the breeze, or sliced okra pods with my pocketknife, their prickly skins filling the bag.

Harvest days meant trudging through tomato rows, filling boxes with sun-warmed fruit. At noon, we’d gather under a sprawling oak, spreading tablecloths on the grass. A sharp knife sliced fresh tomatoes, tucked between white bread with salt, pepper, and JFG mayonnaise—a meal so simple, yet rich with the land’s goodness.

By then, our family’s farming was shifting from market crops to self-sufficiency, but I still recall the sweat-soaked days of working for market, each task lightened by shared laughter.

I don’t miss the backbreaking labor, the relentless sun, or the heat. What I crave is the closeness of toiling alongside loved ones, our bond with each other and the land making every effort worthwhile.

May your home—your own patch of earth—yield enough to sustain your family. If it doesn’t, plant a small garden, visit a farmers’ market, or learn where your food comes from. Rediscover the joy of nurturing the land and the community it feeds.