I can’t find my funny today. A perplexing problem if you are a comedic mama writer.

Three years ago, I arrived home with my kids, to discover our house had been ransacked and burglarized.  Shattered glass from a side door, electronics gone, kid’s piggy banks emptied.

We walked through each room to assess the damage. I was puzzled that every cushion was thrown off the furniture. I mentioned to the detective that the thieves must enjoy a buffet of stale cheerios and fuzzy goldfish. He replied, “No, that’s where most people hide their guns.”  I stopped moving and ruefully smiled. The photos of my four children lined the mantel and I instantly blamed Jeb Bush for not pushing out an earlier implementation of Common Core. Had we decided ten years ago, that children must be able to rationalize why two plus two is four, today’s burglar community would be equipped to deduct that beneath a flimsy couch cushion, next to the half naked Barbie, is decidedly not where a mama hides her arsenal of weapons.

When we approached the master bedroom, my biggest fear was realized.  My mom’s jewelry box, which I treasured since she died, lay broken on the floor, completely empty. Her favorite pieces that allowed me to reminisce, gone. I descended down a deep rabbit hole that vacillated between anger, sorrow, vengeance and hatred. The rote scriptures of love your enemy and forgiveness are easy to recite but challenging to implement when there are actual people, feelings, and cherished keepsakes involved.

My journey out of the pit was a long one. Days where I could only see the darkness and evil in the world.  However, these times eventually gave way to moments of growth, empowerment and yes, even forgiveness and light.

But this week, after three tedious years, charges were finally filed against one of the individual’s responsible. Details were re-aired in the paper prompting many texts and e-mails from sympathetic friends. Instantly I found myself back in that dark place and it sucked out my funny.

This morning I sat in my house. The electronics have long been replaced, piggy banks restocked, children’s fears alleviated and though the jewelry remains unfound, my memories linger. I discovered that the only irreplaceable thing in life is to allow someone to steal your joy.

“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.”   Psalm 30:5

My joy has nothing to do with the items I own. It doesn’t come from the people around me.  It’s not instantly destroyed when terrible things happen. It comes solely from a God who carries me through the pain, to the other side, where I can once again feel the unspeakable joy of being loved, completely and wholly, by a Savior who restores my soul and my funny.

I started to chuckle as I remembered the day of the burglary.  We had been with the police for hours and needed to go pick up the kids. The investigators continued lifting fingerprints from the house and politely asked if they should lock up when they finished.  I paused to hand them a key and then laughed at the absurdity.

“Nah, just leave it open,” I had responded with a grin. “There’s nothing left to steal.”

Funny’s coming back….with a vengeance.